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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 






A WEAVER 
OF DREAMS 

BY 

ETHEL JESSIE HERVEY 




|r|APTTetV6PJTAT|p 



BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, l§ld, by Ethel Elchola 
All Rights Reserved 






NOV 15 1919 



Th« CtorJit^m Press, Beston, U. S. A. 



©CI.A585720 



"'Vv^ 






TO MY MOTHER 



C3 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

In the Garden 13 

The Aftermath 14 

On the Other Side of the Door 16 

Sunset in the Pines 18 

Then You'll Remember Me 19 

Song of the Spheres 2i 

When the Shadows Flee Away 22 

The Lay of the Dreamer 23 

Till We Meet Again 25 

The Weaver of Dreams 26 

Lead Thou Me On 27 

The Price of Love 28 

The Lodestar 29 

The Message of the Winds 30 

The Plague 31 

There Let Me Sleep 33 

In Memory 34 

Unto the End 35 

The Paeon of War 37 

Somewhere in France 38 

The Dearest Things of Earth 39 

Let There Be Life 40 

I Have Chosen 42 

The Supreme Sacrifice 43 

Fame 45 

I May Not Pass This Way Again 47 

5 



Contents 

PAGE 

Out of the Depths 48 

Spring 51 

There is no Death 52 

This is the Way 54 

Only Yesterday 55 

The Loom of Life 56 

On Flanders Field 58 

Opportunity 59 

War— What For? 60 

The Lay of the Storm King 62 

End of the Race 63 

The Voice 64 

Come to Me 66 

The Song of the Roses 67 

The Song of Victory 70 

Memories 71 

The Soldiers' Prayer 72 

Seek and Ye Shall Find 74 

The Broken Circle 76 

Zeda 77 

A Reverie 79 

Backward, Turn Backward 81 

Greater Love Hath No Man Than This. ... 83 

Voices of the City 84 

Dead Days 85 

Down Memories Way 86 

The Key 87 

Twilight Dreams 88 

6 



Contents 

PAGE 

When Dreams Come True 89 

Heart Throbs 92 

High Ace 93 

A Sunset Reverie 94 

The Lesson 95 

Even Unto the Least of Them 96 

Hidden Jewels 98 

Bethlehem 99 

The Call icx) 

Tragedy 103 

Memories 105 

Night 107 

On the Battlefield |o8 

Solitude 109 

Sleep 1 10 

Two Gardens 112 

The Spirit Tryst 113 

Hail ! Spring 114 

The Wanderer 115 

A Moorish Dream 116 

When the Bells Toll 118 

Mother 119 

The Deceiver 119 

The Truant 121 

Twilight 121 

To Helen 1 22 

The Evening Hour 123 

Becalmed 125 

7 



Contents 

PAGE 

I Wait 127 

Mountain Sunset 128 

Make Me a Child Again 129 

Africa 1 30 

The Eternal Question 131 

The Tides .V*. ."' 132 

The Resurrection 133 

A Message 134 

The Prayer 135 

Storm Tossed 135 

The Master Power 137 

Haunting Memories 137 

The Silent Lands 138 

Drifting Sails 139 

The Last Day 140 

Sorrow 142 

On Ardath's Field 142 

Lost — A Day 143 

Sing Hey 144 

The Journey of Love 144 

As a Tree Falleth 145 

The Graces 146 

Come Home 147 

Treasures of Life 147 

The World's End 148 

The Sorrows of Earth 149 

The Muse of the Scorned 150 

The Departed 1 52 

8 



Contents 

PAGE 

Holy Orders 153 

At Rest 154 

Gateway of the Years 155 

Night Thoughts 156 

Death 157 

At Gettysburg 158 

Withered Roses 1 60 

Cupid 161 

The Silent Tryst 162 

The Race Eternal 163 

That Old Sweetheart of Mine 165 

Let There Be Light 167 

They Shall Be Comforted 167 

A Women's Lament to the Gods 169 

Thou Shalt Not Kill 170 

The Song of the Seasons 172 

The Game 173 

Autumn 175 

Shadows 176 

The Parting of the Ways 178 

The Love Game 179 

The Harbinger 180 

Whom the Gods Love 181 

The Greater Lure 186 

Love 187 

He Arose 188 

Adrift 190 

As the Years Roll On 192 

9 



A WEAVER OF DREAMS 



IN THE GARDEN 

I was walking in the garden, when the dew was on 

the rose, 
When the dawn was bathed in glory, and the World 

in deep repose. 
There I met him by the lilies, in the radiance of 

the dawn, 
And I knelt in adoration as the day came pacing on. 

And his presence seemed to gather, all the gleaming 

rays of light, 
All the sun glows of the morning, and the moonmist 

of the night, 
All the aureole tints of sunset seemed about him to 

abide, 
I could see the cruel nail prints and the spear wound 

in his side. 

I walked with him down the winding path, and the 

lilies bowed and swayed. 
Alone with the man of sorrows I watched the birth 

of another day, 
And he stretched his hand and touched my brow and 

consecrated me. 
To work — that men might know his word, might 

hear his voice and see. 

He promised me that I should touch life's harp to 

many chords, 
That I should sing the song of life and love to many 

tunes. 
That down the pathway of the years, my feet would 

dance along, 

13 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Through the white days of December, and the rose 
bound days of June. 

When I raised my eyes the radiance of his form had 

disappeared 
And a stirring in the forest, told me that the day 

was near, 
But I knew no dream had brought me such a peace 

and soul repose 
In the dawning of the morning, while the dew was 

on the rose. 

I had walked with him, and talked with him, where 

the stately lilies rise, 
And I had seen the gleaming radiance kiss him from 

nether skies. 
And doubt can never more assail my mind, or stay 

my hand, 
For I have met the Master, and he knows and 

understands. 

THE AFTERMATH 

There's a golden flag that floats to-day, above a 
world reborn, 

And the motto that the banner bears is "Peace," 

And the thundering guns are silenced and the bul- 
lets' song of hate, 

For the victory is won, and war has ceased. 

And we're wondering in the trench, if life back 
home will seem the same. 

After living in the heart of things, and playing 
war's grim game. 



A Weaver oj Dreams 



We have passed the road of life and chance, and 

looked death in the face, 
Lived by the right of sword and might, not asked 

nor given grace, 
And we are wondering when we're called back 

home, if we'll be content to play 
The ordinary game of life in the ordinary way. 

We have seen the naked souls of men, stripped of 

prejudice and pride, 
For rank and wealth soon pass away, when men 

fight side by side, 
In the baptism of human blood, all Gods and creeds 

are one, 
And the same rude crosses mark all graves, when 

the day of fight is done. 

We have lived long years in a single day, in this 

reeking land of the dead. 
Our hearts are aged by suffering, and our souls have 

forged ahead, 
We have been the pawns of death so long, we have 

lived so deep in life's core, 
That the shallow lives of the old days will satisfy 

no more. 

So we're wondering in the trench if life back home 
will be the same, 

After living in the heart of things and playing 
war's grim game, 

And though homing ties are calling, will we be con- 
tent to play, 

The ordinary game of life in the ordinary way. 

15 



A Weaver of Dreams 



ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR 

Oh, Mother mine, when daylight fades, and high 

o'er the garden wall, 
The great moon climbs, and her silver rays on the 
quaint old garden fall, 
When I stroll as we did in the days gone by, 
Where the nodding asters and hollyhocks, 
And the stately lilies keep silent guard. 
Along the well remembered walks, 
In this quaint old moonkissed garden, the cares that 

have fretted me, 
Are wafted away on Seraph wings, when my spirit 
communes with thee. 

Oh, Mother mine, when the waters beat, against my 

rock of life, 
When the friends we trust pass by in scorn, in the 
darkest hour of life, 
When the love that bloomed in the garden of life 
In the golden noon, like a fragrant flower, 
Withers beneath the rain of tears 
And wastes itself in one short hour. 
When the heart is heavy, the days are long, and the 

wind moans like the sea, 
I long for the change that will bring again, a 
mother's love to me. 

Your presence will encompass me, and waft away 

my tears. 
And I shall pray at your knee again, as I did in those 
childhood years. 
Mother tells me she was just another 
Little girl who ran along, 

i6 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Down the pathway of the years, 
Dark with sorrow, bright with song. 
And when shadows fall, I long to creep like a child 

that is tired of play, 
Into the haven of Mother's arms at the close of 
each w^ary day. 

Into thy arms. Oh Mother mine, I long to be and 

rest 
For love may come and love may go, but Mother 
love is best. 
Wealth may vanish, dreams may die, 
Fame may pass as a shooting star, 
And down in the valleys and by-ways of sin, 
Our erring feet may wander far. 
Years pass on and bring their toll, of joy and love 

of others. 
But none will bring, when the shadows fall, the 
peace of a love like Mother's. 

No other heart will sacrifice, no other heart will 

bleed 
Like Mother's heart and Mother's love in the 
anguished hour of need. 
Years may dim our shining faith, 
In the love and fellowship of men. 
Time may shatter all our dreams, 
And we must toil and build again. 
But when love and friends have failed us, and dark 

paths seem the best, 
Mother is there to lift us up, to give us hope and 
rest. 

17 



A Weaver of Dreams 



These are the things that throng my mind, in the 

lane where the lilies bloom, 
Where the hollyhocks are dancing in the madlight 
of the moon, 
As I walk the well remembered paths, 
A shining presence doth abide, 
You may not see her, but I know 
That Mother's walking at my side. 
And I am weary, and I long to creep like a child 

that is tired of play, 
Into the haven of Mother's arms and rest for a 

long, long day. 
Rest and sleep and wake to be with her forevermore 
Beyond the veil of the spiritland, on the other side 
of the door. 

SUNSET IN THE PINES 

A sudden darkening of the sky, 

And far in the distant west, 
The red sun dips below the pines 

And out from her glowing breast 
Shoot aureole pinions of flaming gold, 

Of violet, mauve and rose, 
That softly blend and seem to soothe 

The tired soul to repose. 

And out from the east, the mystic east, 

Sweep winds from the midnight lands, 
And one by one the candles of Heaven 

Are lighted by angel hands. 
And through the fringe of the stately pines. 

The harvest moon swings low, 
Her mad light dancing on the fields 

Where the purple gentians blow. 

i8 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Now, the mystic, myriad shades in the west 

Have followed the wake of the sun, 
To rest '\n her flaming, cryptic tomb. 

And another day is done. 
The frog chorus twanges its chant by the pool, 

The birds sing on the trees. 
And the wind that wafts through the tall pine 
boughs, 

Is crooning the song of the sea. 

And down where the marsh land meets the swamp, 

Where the shadows lurk and hide. 
Where the night heron cries and stalks his prey, 

And the creatures of night abide, 
And on to the rolling hills of pine, 

Where the moon mists glimmer white, 
The earth is hushed — with a ghostly touch, 

The world sleeps — it is night. 

THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME 

When the cares of the day are over 

And the sun glow dies through the trees 

When you are alone with memories 
Then you'll remember me. 

When you dream in the quaint old garden 
Where the moonlight loves to stray 

I will be there in spirit 

In the same old loving way. 

My hands will caress your forehead 

That time has furrowed with care 
My kisses will fall on the silver threads 

That gleam in the brown of your hair. 

19 



A Weaver of Dreams 



When the burdens of life seem heavy 

And you long to be far away 
You will find sweet peace in roaming 

Down the road to yesterday. 

Oh, the memory of hours together 

Seems a golden rosary 
And as you count them over 

Then you'll remember me. 

When your lips press the chalice of sorrow, 
And the friends of your youth days have flown 

I will come to you out of the shadows 
As you dream in the garden alone. 

I am not dead, my loved one 

I have not journeyed far 
I work for you and wait for you 

Across the sunset bars. 

I am the breath of the roses 

That climb o'er the garden wall 
I am the soul of the lilies 

That bloom where the night dews fall. 

And you shall never forget me 

No matter where you may be 
For alone in the night with memories, 

Then you'll remember me. 



20 



A Weaver of Drea?ns 



SONG OF THE SPHERES 

If I but knew where your soul had winged to-day 
My love would follow you over the world and 

away, 
It would rise like mist from the pounding sea 
And sweep to the furthest points of the stars, 
And down to the very deeps of the earth 
Wherever the living spirits are 
I would come, I would come. 

Far over the sweeps of the mountains high 

I would rise w^ith the wind to the brooding skies 

And every breath of the breeze that blew 

Would waft me on in my search for you, 

I would fall with the rains like a pearly tear. 

Crying to fate "I am here, I am here." 

Wherever you are, you must feel me near 

Singing the endless song of the spheres. 

You must hear my voice, as I call through the skies. 
Lead me on to the light, it is I, it is I 
Wherever you are, wherever you dream, 
In some garden where lilies bloom. 
You must feel my touch in the breath of the night, 
See my eyes in the glow of the moon. 
From every rose that borders the past, 
Memories will rise like mist. 
And the dews will fall in the early morn, 
On your lips, like the breath of my kiss. 
If I but knew where your soul had winged its way 
My love would follow you over the world and away, 
I would break the ties that bind me here 
We would sing together the song of the spheres, 

21 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Through the shadows of night you would hear me 

cry, 
Lead me on to the light, It is I, — it is I. 
Sweeping out from the twilight land, 
Waiting, waiting the touch of your hand, 
The touch of your hand, the flame of your kiss 
Waiting in the twilight dreaming of this. 
Speeding on with the stars in their courses, 
Rushing on in the wake of the moon, 
The journey is long, I am weary, 
Lead me on to the light very soon. 
I can hear the soft call of your spirit, 
And the rush and the beat of your wings. 
And soon we shall rest in the garden, 
In the dawn, while the nightingale sings. 

WHEN THE SHADOWS FLEE AWAY 

When the day breaks, and the shadows flee away, 

You shall know me as I am, 
When we have passed beyond the vale of years 

To some gleaming coral strand. 

Beyond the glowing sunsets and the dawn mist 
Where the desert sands are burned to gold 

There we shall meet and know and understand 
When life is finished in the mould. 

And we shall find the cares that fretted us, 
The sorrows that beset our lonely way 

Were given us that we might feel more keenly 
The joy and glory of a perfect day. 



22 



A Weaver of Dreams 



The heart that never throbbed with heavy sorrow, 
The eye that never filled with blinding tears, 

The soul that never passed through death's dark 
valley 
What can they know of human hopes and fears. 

Those who have never known a life's Gethsemene 
Or trudged alone their hill of Calvary, 

Or having loved, and found love not enduring 
What can they know, these souls of thee and me. 

For we have passed through many trials together, 
Through the glowing sun days, when the trail was 
wide, 
And when night fell, and shadows deep encom- 
passed us, 
We took our toll of sorrow, side by side. 

And in the lily fields of rest eternal, 
In some fair Eden, at the close of day, 

There we shall meet, and know and understand, 
When day breaks, and the shadows flee away, 

THE LAY OF THE DREAMER 

I would rather be a dreamer in the fairy land of 

thought. 
Than a thinker in the busy haunts of men. 
I am weary of the hollow joys, the soulless race for 

wealth, 
And I long to be a dreamer once again. 



33 



A Weaver of Dreams 



I would rather see the beauty in the sunset's fiery 

glow 
With its aureole of amber gold and red 
I would rather make myself beloved, that friends 

might understand 
And remember me and love me when I'm dead. 

I would rather be a dreamer, know the language 

of the flowers, 
Know the glory and the beauty of the dawn. 
I would rather leave some work to live, some output 

of the soul 
That would help some storm cast soul to struggle 

on. 

I would rather hear the music in the pounding of the 

sea 
Than find wealth in the soulless empty conflict of the 

fray. 
For the dreamer lives forever and his dreams bear 

fragrant blooms, 
But the thinker is forgotten in a day. 

I am weary of the shamming of a life that's half a 

lie 
And the scheming in the faces in the throngs that 

hurry by, 
I am weary of the farce of love within the hearts 

of men. 
And I long to be a dreamer once again. 



24 



A Weaver of Dreams 



TILL WE MEET AGAIN 

When we have met beyond the veil of years 
Beyond the searing heartaches and the tears 

Across the glowing sunset 

Beyond the waking dawn 

Past the moonmist and the Stardust 

Our souls shall journey on 
To some fair aisle where worldly shams are past 
And we shall know and understand at last. 

And I shall know your thoughts and all your long- 
ings 
And you shall know my dreams and hear my songs. 

The old misunderstandings 

Like mists shall pass away 

Leaving a perfect harmony 

Like the close of a perfect day. 
For life is but a dream, death the awakening, 
As shadows flee away when day is breaking. 

Together we shall walk the long, long trail, 
Adventurers, searching for the Holy Grail. 

Life after life shall vanish 

Veil after veil shall rend. 

But ever our souls look forward 

To the goal at the journey's end. 
Where we may rest with the race of ages won 
When the Master says, Well done my child, well 
done. 



25 



A Weaver of Dreams 



THE WEAVER OF DREAMS 

I am a weaver of dreams, a singer of songs, 
I weave the gold threads of love and joy, 

The silver threads of sorrow, 
The rose threads of youth and the gray threads of 

age, 
I weave them into a perfect harmony. 

Into the woof of the loom of life is woven, 
The garish red of passion that wastes itself 

In one short hour, 
Leaving the soul empty, like a burned out crust. 
Leaving the soul and heart tired and yearning 
To cast away the worn out shell. 

That housed them. 

I spin from the iridescent thread of years 
A symphony of pure undying love, 
A love that endures unto death, and on through the 
celestial spheres, 
A love that never dies. 
And when death parts for an hour, the spirit beats 
fiercely w^ithin its walls of clay, 
Longing to return to its mate. 

I weave the gleaming threads of fame and ambition 
The soul's struggle toward bigger hopes and higher 

love, 
The desire to leave behind, when we have stepped 

from our little cog on the wheel of this so 

called life. 
Some work, some flower of the soul that will live on 
And on, and give new hope to some soul, downcast 
A resurrection of dead dreams. 

26 



A Weaver of Dreams 



The white star of fame above all hypocrisy and 

sham, 
A heart reaching out toward the real teachings of 

the Man of Galilee, 
A soul willing to endure the suffering of a Gethsem- 

ene, 
And the torture of a worldly Calvary 
That the real teachings of Christ might touch the 

hearts of men, 
And lead them on to the heights. 

I am a weaver of dreams, a singer of songs, 

I spin in the far Northern climes where 

The Aurora Borealis glows and the cold North 

stars gleam over the frozen wastes. 
I weave on the desert sands before my tent 
The hot sands that the noon day sun burns to gold, 
And when the purple dusk drops quickly over the 
desert and the Moorish city in the distance 
and the white stars come forth, and the great 
silver moon hangs heavy over the sands 
From pole to pole, from clime to clime 
I weave my dreams. 

LEAD THOU ME ON 

Ah, mother mine, if you were here 
To smooth with tender touch my hair 

Now silvered with the frosty snow of years 
I think life's cares would melt away 
If we should meet some happy day, 

And you should lead me through the vale of 
tears 

27 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Ah, mother mine, if I could see 

Once more thy dear eyes bent on me 

And hear that loved, but now long silent voice 
See not my cheeks of faded rose 
Tired eyes I long in peace to close 

But murmur, "dawn is near, let us rejoice." 

Ah, mother mine, if thy dear hands. 
Could reach from yonder silent lands 

And guide my faltering feet through darkest 
night 
I feel that death would bear no sting 
Knowing the newer dawn would bring 

The promised land, and thou to clasp me tight. 

THE PRICE OF LOVE 

If we could love and forget, and down the changing 
years 

No haunting memories rise like spectres pale 
Memories, bitter-sweet-cruel with vain regrets 

Sweeping like mist, from twilight's mystic vale. 

If we could love, and then forget the wistful eyes. 
Soul windows, where the flower of love was born. 

Forget the heartaches and the burning blinding tears 
That dimmed them when the love had turned to 
scorn. 

If we could love and then forget the bitter hours, 

We climbed alone our hill of Calvary. 
About our feet like broken toys, love's shattered 
dreams, 
In our hearts the moaning, sobbing sea. 

28 



A Weaver of Dreams 



If we could love and then forget, and know no more 

The Via Dolorosa of a soul in pain, 
If we could pluck the passion flower and blooms of 
heartease, 

And find upon their petals no dark stain. 

But when the dusky night is dreaming in the 
heavens, 
And when the flowers with morning dew are wet, 
Then memories, like ghosts, sweep from the shad- 
ows, 
The heart that knows true love cannot forget. 

THE LODESTAR 

What more could I ask of the fates 

Than that the blazing star of fame, 
Should lead me onward to the heights 

Where fire and glory guard my name. 

I ask not love, nor wealth nor power 

All these may pass away. 
1 ask the joy of work well done 

At the close of life's perfect day. 

For love may rise like a flaming meteor 

O'er the gardens of life while youth runs high, 

But often it fades like the flowers of summer, 
Leaving life's Autumn days barren and dry. 

The wealth that lures us like the rainbow's gold 
What hope shall it give when the shadows fall, 

About our feet the shattered dreams of love. 
And mocking laughter echoes through life's hall. 

29 



A Weaver of Dreams 



I ask the joys that the soul may know 

The knowledge that down the waking years 

My work and deeds shall follow on, 

To soothe some heartache, dry some tears. 

No matter if the road seems long and thorny. 
No matter if the heights sweep high and far. 

Beyond the gates of life, — new work, new journeys, 
The road to Paradise — and fame's white star. 

THE MESSAGE OF THE WINDS 

The harvest moon is swinging low. 

And the wind is sobbing through the pines. 

The ivy clings to the garden wall 

And over the mill wheel, the waters fall, 

And a million stars are shining. 

And the wind that sobs through the swaying pines 
Is singing the song of the sea, 
A song of life, of death and fate, 
And when I muse in the garden quaint 
It brings this message to me. 

That the things that make our lives worth while 

Are the joys that the soul may know, 

That peace at the close of a perfect day 

Bereft of all glitter and show. 

It is not the gold we struggle to win 

It is not the plaudits of fame, 

As we play our part on life's puppet stage 

That laurels may crown our name. 



30 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Cities may rise o'er the fields of God, 

Where the lilies were wont to bloom, 

And the blinding lights of the city nights 

Outrival the glow of the moon, 

But 'neath the worldly sham and pride 

In the dreaming dusk of the day, 

Comes the knowledge that youth and love and 

wealth, 
All these shall pass away. 

And our souls reach out for the things of God 

And the life we know must come 

When the spirit outgrows its earthly home, 

And the race of life is done. 

When all about us our sweetest dreams 

Lie shattered like broken toys, 

And looking back through the yesteryears, 

We find more sorrows than joys. 

We have played our cue and the curtain falls, 

On the farce of our earthly strife, 

And down through the valley of shadows we pass, 

To the stage of another life. 

But whatever we find and whatever we do 

In the fabled gardens of rest, 

It will all work out in the end some way, 

Somehow, sometime, for the best. 

THE PLAGUE 

When life has lain her armour down 

And the plague stalks through like a reaper grim, 
When the days pace on with forebodings strange 

And a million sobs waft on the wind. 

31 



A Weaver of Dreams 



When we kneel by the cots of our dying in prayer 
When the lonely human soul finds light, 

And our anguished hearts bleed drop by drop, 
Through the gloomy reaches of the night. 

When war and pestilence pace the land 

Helpless are man and his gold, 
We know that the mysteries of life and law 

And the ways of death are old. 

"Unclean" we cry as we pass the door 
Where death and the plague have been 

We give our wealth, we give our food, 
But we will not enter in. 

But one there is who stands by each cot 

In mansion rare or hovel dim 
Wherever the plague has left its mark 

The loving Master enters in. 

And the dying open their weary eyes 
When the long, long trail draws near 

To find this image of love divine 
And they sleep and know not fear. 

He leads each soul through the shadowed vale, 
Through the gloom and the deathlike night 

He guides the weary faltering feet 
On to the highways of light. 

And the Master points a finger of scorn 

And this is the message he sends. 
Greater love hath no man than this 

That he lay down his life for a friend. 

32 



A Weaver of Dreams 



THERE LET ME SLEEP 

Beneath the lily fields of France, 

There bury me 
Where I may hear the thundering guns, 

This is my plea. 
Above my head the legions tramp 
Across my bed the batteries boom, 
Shrieking balls of fire and death, 

To burst like meteors in the gloom. 

If I sleep deep before the sun 

Has gone to rest 
Make me a grave right where I fall 

I think it best, 
For the souls of the dead will still fight on 
And our presence here in the sod perchance, 
AVith the rude cross over our lonely bed 

Will fire anew the hearts of France. 

Just where my spirit leaves its shell 

There let me lie 
For the great cause of true democracy 

I can but die, 
While far above me in the blue 
The battle planes go whirling by. 
And throbbing music and tramping feet. 

Will serenade me where I lie. 



Z3 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Right in the heart of the noisy fray, 

There let me sleep 
Across my grave the screaming shells, 

There guard will keep. 
And when the blood days are no more. 
When war its harvest reaps 
In peace beneath the lily fields, 

Still let me sleep. 

IN MEMORY 

Oh, say, have you heard the soughing of the wind, 
Passing through the pines and the tall waving grass, 
Have you heard the beating of the waves on the 

rocks. 
Or the water placid, silent, still as glass. 
And the soughing of the wind, and the moaning of 

the sea. 
Are symbols of the unrest in my heart, 
The fierce beating of my spirit within its walls of 

clay, 
Yearning for you, though death holds us apart. 

Oh, say, and did you know that when we met, 
Your hand met mine in friendship's binding tie. 
I knew that some day I would kiss your lips. 
And stir the soul that dreamed within your eye. 
I knew that all the barriers and shams, 
Would vanish in the light of love sublime 
That some day all the mist of years would vanish, 
And once again your soul be truly mine. 



34 



A Weaver of Dreams 



You did not know, but I knew when I met you, 

I knew that we had met and loved before, 

And from the dead years came the fragrant echoes. 

The perfume of the days that are no more. 

I seem to feel a stirring of the pulses, 

And old love songs are lilting through my head, 

The consciousness that life on life I knew you. 

Love's eternal resurrection from the dead. 

Now once again the slender thread is broken, 

Once again your soul has freed its bonds. 

And leaving behind the cold and smiling earth mask. 

Your yearning, eager soul has journeyed on, 

And though the gates of death have closed behind 

you. 
On some fair isle I know you wait for me. 
The time is short when I shall dream and waken. 
To Paradise, to home, to love and thee. 

UNTO THE END 

Let me go with you unto the end dear 

As you toil up your Calvary hill 
As the shadows droop softly about us 

And the silence broods solemn and still. 

When the garden of youth was ablooming 
And the poppies blazed red on the hill. 

Or the crested moon rose o'er the pine fringe 
And the stars paced on silent and still. 

When at high noon life's garden ran riot. 
With perfume and frankincense rare, 

You bloomed like a lily unsullied, 
The garden held no flower so fair. 

35 



A Weaver of Dreams 



But now that youth's springtime has vanished 
And the star of your fame has burned low, 

And only the violets and mauves and grays 
Are left as the day's afterglow. 

When the friends of your youth days turn fickle, 

And no longer love's offerings send, 
Let me walk with you on the lone highway, 

Let me go with you unto the end. 

For mine eyes have searched deep and though youth 
dies 

You are dearer to me day by day, 
For your white soul stands forth in its splendor 

When the earth petals wither away. 

What to me that your rose cheeks are paling 
Or the sweet silver shines in your hair, 

And the wrinkles to me mean bright laughter 
And the kisses the angels placed there. 

And your dear eyes hold all that I long for, 
I would love you — be more than a friend, 

Let me walk with you down to death's portals. 
Let me go with you unto the end. 



36 



A Weaver of Dreams 



THE PAEON OF WAR 

I am the God of War, I am the Prince of Death, 

I am he who brought the Hun to your door; 
See how my bones are draped, draped in deep red 
and gold, 
Gold for the souls of men, red for their bloody 
gore. 
And I am girded round. 
By the silk cords of might, 
I steal into your homes, 
In the deep gloom of night. 
I lay your lands to waste, I kill the harvest bloom, 
I turn your men to beasts, 'neath the mad light of the 
moon. 

All through the bloody noon, all through the gloomy 
night, 
I pass among ye like a death, like a fiend ; 
I hear the wounded groaning, I hear the prayers of 
dying, 
And all above shrills the iron bullets scream. 
I pass among ye here. 
But far on trembling thrones. 
Crouch the tin Gods of War, 
I marked them for my own. 
They are my salvage souls, I claim them when they 

fall; 
When tottering empires crumble, when rot the castle 
wall. 



37 



A Weaver of Dreams 



And from your youth and manhood, I pluck the buds 
and blossoms, 
I kill the nations' knighthood, for an hundred 
mourning years; 
I lay my mangled offerings, on to the war's red altar, 
Leaving the wives and mothers bathed in their 
woe and tears. 
And long as men will stand, 
Dumb 'neath oppressor's wrongs. 
Thus long I reign supreme, 
Now hear my victor's song. 
I am the God of death, I am the Lord of strife, 
1 mark the souls of men, I claim the breath of life. 

SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE 

The harvest moon will rise and gleam tonight, 

In silver radiance 'cross the garden wall; 
And touch with gleaming white, and memories 
The lonliness that answers not my call. 
Oh my garden you are empty. 
You white lilies grieve me now; 
For their dew seems like the death damp 
On a dying soldier's brow. 

Through the pines the silver rays are filtering, 

A halo on the nodding hollyhocks; 
And the ragged asters, grouped like sentinels 
Are keeping guard along the graveled walks. 
Oh, the silent, white walled garden, 
That did late our hearts entrance. 
Seems tonight a tomb of memories 
Of my boy — somewhere in France. 



38 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Will these paths again e'er echo to your tread, 
Will my cheek e'er flush beneath your kiss of 
flame; 
Or will you sleep beneath some war wrecked garden 
In far-off France, a grave without a name. 
Oh my moonlit, dew kissed garden 
With sweet memories enhanced ; 
Make me strong enough to sacrifice 
My boy — somewhere in France. 

Oh my garden, with your radiance and dew; 

'Twas there he left me for his country's call, 
Give me the strength of Sparta's race of old 
Send him home victorious, or not at all. 
Oh, the dew within the lilies. 
Where the piercing moonmists glance 
Seems a chalice holding heart tears 
For my boy — somewhere in France. 

THE DEAREST THINGS OF EARTH 

'Tis something when the shadows fall 
And through the vale of death we pass 

To know we left good thoughts and deeds 
Star scattered through the waving grass. 

Our battle banners, bright unfurled 

Above a newer, better world. 

To hear in youth the song of songs 

The swan song of the years to come, 
Then in the harvest time of age 

To feel the joy of work well done. 
To know we tried in life's short span. 
To live and be a friend to man. 

39 



A Weaver of Dreams 



To love with love that knows no bounds, 

To feel the throbbing pulse of life 
To understand the shipwrecked souls 

That pass like ghosts barks in the night. 
To see the best in every man 
To lend a friendly helping hand. 

These are the dearest things of earth 

As we pass on life's rugged way, 
To hear the harvest song of peace 

At the close of a perfect day. 
To love, to know and understand, 
To live and be a friend to man. 

LET THERE BE LIFE 

There's a far away country, a home 'cross the sea, 

And the soul of the nation is gone ; 
For the men of the Empire sleep deep in the sod, 

'Neath the trees, where the thrush sings on. 
Each morn, when the dawn speeds afar from the 
east. 

In her fire robes of amber and red ; 
The song on her lips fades away to a dirge 

When she gleams on the land of the dead. 

The night wind sobs sadly, a deep shadow droops 

Like a dark veil down over the land ; 
And the creatures of night scream out in shrill fear, 

For war and death pace hand in hand. 
The fields that once waved like a crest their gold 
grain, 

Lie a tangle of stubble and weeds, 
And yonder where vultures are circling above. 

Bones bleach in the marsh 'neath the reeds. 

40 



A W eaver of Dreams 



Desolation and ruin on every hand wait, 

And the children are crying for bread, 
And the war God looks down and smiles in his glee. 

For another fair country lies dead. 
A million men die for a monarch's fierce whim, 

For his lustings of power, and his greed, 
A million homes crumble and break on the wheel, 

A million hearts suffer and bleed. 

But w^oe to the crowned heads, the time draws apace, 

When the monarchs* long reign shall be o'er ; 
When the Empires pass on down the pathway of 
Rome 

Unto death, and their powers be no more. 
When the walls of the castles shall crumble away, 

And the war armour rust in the dew. 
When the sceptre shall fall from the rulers' dead 
hands, 

And the vanquished land be born anew. 

The guns shall be stacked, and folded the tents, 

The war steeds in idleness roam. 
And the wrecks of the men that the puppet king 
called 

Shall come marching wearily home. 
The banners of battle forever be furled 

And the war songs forever be stilled, 
And only the chant of sweet freedom ring out 

O'er the copse and the green wooded hills. 

And out of the dank mire of death and despair, 

The countries' fair spirit shall rise, 
And bursting her shackles shall trumpet aloft, 

Freedom's sweet strains to the skies. 

41 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Death shall pass on, and be swallowed for aye, 

By the waves of eternity's sea ; 
And a mighty chant rise from the throat of the 
world. 

That man and his country are free. 

I HAVE CHOSEN 

I have chosen my path, and the road runs not, 

Through the fields where the primrose bloom. 
Nor on where the rippling waters dream, 

And dance 'neath the rays of the moon. 
Nor on to the uplands of riotous blooms ; 

Where float orient perfumes rife; 
That stir like an incense the blood of our youth, 

To bask in the glamour of life. 

I have chosen the rock bound heights of fame, 

Where the haughty eagle nests; 
The way of the traveler is thorny and long, 

But it seemeth to me the best. 
For far on the summit are gardens fair; 

Where the weary feet may pace, 
And my dreams, and the star of fame is there. 

For the winners of the race. 



42 



A Weaver of Dreams 



THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 

Out on the lonesome battle field, in the heart of 
no man's land 
'Mid a writhing tangle of barbed wire, in the 
scorching heat of the day 
In a trench, deserted by all save rats, and the heaps 
of mangled dead 
Half crazed by pain, and tortured by thirst, the 
wounded soldier lay 

Far in the west the battle roar, now swelled, now 
died away 
And a silence followed more horrible than the 
scream of flying shells 
A brooding silence, more potent with dread than the 
bullet's song of hate, 
For in that time men thought on war, and their 
souls went down to Hell. 

Over the top the soldier had charged, by the side of 
his comrades true 
Over the top, with bayonets fixed, they rushed at 
the kultured Hun 
And the stars and stripes swept o'er the field beside 
the flag of France 
And America and "La Marseillaise" pierced the 
thunder of the guns. 



43 



A Weaver of Dreams 



A stinging flash, a blood stained arm, and the dew 
of pain on his brow, 
But the boy pressed on with hard clenched teeth 
across the shell torn ground 
Then a mighty crash, and oblivion 'till he woke in 
the slimy trench 
In the reeking mud, and far to the west, the boom- 
ing battle sounds 

And the soldier closed his weary eyes, and dreamed 
that the war had passed 
That the hideous German hordes had sheathed the 
iron sword in defeat 
That the sun had dried the rivers of blood and the 
heart of the world was healed 
And once again the battle grounds were fields of 
waving wheat. 

He dreamed that the monarchs' trembling thrones 
had crumbled and fallen to dust 
And men's souls, slaked of their thirst for blood, 
had turned to the things of God 
Like leaves that rise from their winter's sleep and 
turn their face to the sun 
The world knew peace, and sweet flowers bloomed 
above the blood stained sod. 

And love was there in a woman's eyes, love that 
was brave and true 
And children's voices echoed sweet, where the 
shells were wont to scream 
And the dawns of peace rose in the east, and the 
sunsets died in the west 
Men's hearts were glad, for the years of war now 
seemed but a hideous dream. 

44 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Then the dreams passed on to the misty land, where 
dreams are known to dwell, 
And the soldier woke to the parching thirst, and 
the throbbing heart and head 
He sighed and sank to a deeper sleep, and the day 
paced into night 
And the moon rode high, and silvered the trench, 
where the soldier lay still and dead. 

And the battle roar now swelled and died, afar in 
the distant west 
And the moon tried hard, the desolate wastes, 
with her soft rays to enhance, 
Across the miles came the echo sweet of America and 
La Marseillaise, 
A tribute to the boys who sleep beneath the fields 
of France. 

Here sleep our boys, our gallant youth, in trench 
and wooded glen 
Mute tributes to the law of God, nor shall our 
offerings cease, 
Till the stars and stripes sweep 'cross the field beside 
the flag of France 
Sweep on to victory, crush the Hun, and save 
the world to peace. 

FAME 

There came a time within my empty life, 

When I seemed to see the beckoning hand of fame 

Reach out to me in hope, across the years. 
And tinge with gold the letters of my name. 

45 



A PVeaver of Dreams 



As in a dream I saw the airy flights 

I strove to climb so wearily, step by step, 

I saw a vision of the great air castle, 

Wherein the soul of all my life's years slept. 

Guiding me strongly, and with helpful smile, 
Fame drew me swiftly onward to the top. 

And there before me on a mighty cloud, 
The sight of my reward caused me to stop. 

I closed my eyes to see a pleasant vision 
Of love, of youth, of pleasure and of fame; 

I saw the mark of time erase all others, 
But fresh the golden glory of my name. 

A sudden chill, a trembling and a crash. 
Awoke me from my dream of years to come, 

Lo! while I slept fair fickle fame had vanished, 
And my castle crumbled ere the rising sun. 

Wildly I cried unto fame's fleeting figure, 

Nay, nay, she called, time flies and art is long. 

There are a thousand others who will reach the top 
And grasp their fleeting dream, ere it is gone. 

I plunged myself from off the airy heights — 
Into the earth's dark, bottomless abyss. 

And dreamed through ages of eternal torture 
How I had slept, and missed fame's mighty kiss. 



46 



A Weaver of Dreams 



I MAY NOT PASS THIS WAY AGAIN 

I have stood at eve, when the battle roar died, 
And the night paced out from the east; 

And mourned o'er the dead of my godly men, 
That the w^ars have changed to beasts. 

I have trod the blood stained battle fields, 

And watched the night unfold ; 
I have wept and my tears were stained with blood ; 

When the dawn broke, dank and cold. 

I have stood by your guns while they belched forth 
death, 

I have walked 'mid the shot and shell, 
And these, O Father, thine imaged souls, 

And this is the fabled Hell. 

Through the blood marred days, and the long dark 
nights, 

I have prayed as I did of yore. 
When the faithless nailed me to the cross, 

And the world knew me no more. 

I pass among ye, crowned with thorns, 

With the nail prints in my hands; 
And I am crucified each day, 

By the lords of your bloody lands. 

And the fields that my Father hath given you, 

Ye have laid to a barren waste; 
And the wine of life that hath nourished you, 

Is bitter and sour to the taste. 

^ .47 



A Weaver of Dreams 



I bid ye cease and slay no more, 
Or woe to the sons of men ; 

My time is short among ye, and 
I may not pass this way again. 

1 may not pass this way again. 
To warn that ye shall not kill ; 

Or throw the shadow of the cross, 
That stood on Calvary's hill. 

Oh, blood mad world, ye know me not. 

Who for your sins did die ; 
Ye will not see my pierced feet ; 

Nor the spear wound in my side. 

I go again unto my Father, 

For the world hath my teachings denied ; 
But in every soul that the war doth toll, 

I am scorned — I am crucified. 

OUT OF THE DEPTHS 

In the far forgotten centuries, 

In the vanquished yesterdays; 
In the dead years that are hidden 

By the God Time's silver haze: 
Oh, I knew you, and I loved you, 

Many, many times of yore. 
And mayhaps will meet and love again, 

On many another shore. 



48 



A Weaver of Dreams 



For sometimes I feel a stirring 

Of memories long dead, 
And the lilt of former love songs, 

Goes aringing through my head. 
And like a flash of fiery lightning, 

P'or a time I seem to know 
Who you were, and how I loved you, 

In that far-ofiE long ago. 

Oh, I wooed you in the tropics, 

As we crouched in jungle trees, 
And I chattered forth my love song 

To the soughing of the breeze. 
We swung aloft on the swaying boughs; 

And shouted in apeish glee; 
For you were my mate, and the soul of you 

Was welded to soul of me. 

We loved awhile, 'till darkness came, 

The stage that men call death. 
And deep we slept, till the laws of life, 

Changed our forms and gave us breath. 
And lo, we had lost the skin of the beast 

And the forehead of the brute, 
For nature had fashioned our limbs anew, 

And given a tongue to the mute. 

We hollowed our homes in the flinty rock. 

For the beast was no longer dumb, 
And the eye of the soul looked far in the years 

And dreamed of a world to come. 
The years have blossomed and faded away, 

And oft we have loved and died ; 
And oft we have slept for a century, 

In our earth bed, side by side. 

49 



A Weaver of Dreams 



But always the hand of nature touched, 

The dark, with her torch of flame, 
And kindled the spark in our dreaming souls, 

And we lived and loved again. 
We have always loved with mind and soul. 

And the aeons shall never dim ; 
The heavenly flame, that nature's law, 

Keeps burning so bright within. 

We shall love and sleep again I know, 

When this earthly dream is done; 
And we shall pass with the children of light 

To the kingdom of the sun. 
But we know that each and every life 

Seemeth higher and the best. 
x\nd each step brings us nearer to 

The garden of our rest. 

But our souls my love, are tuned as one 

By the ages that have died ; 
And our dreams my love, were blended sweet 

As we slumbered side by side. 
We shall pass again, as the flowers of spring. 

To some home in the coral sky; 
But where'er it be, I feel in my soul, 

We shall live, and never die. 



50 



A Weaver of Dreams 



SPRING 

Spring, and I found in a shady nook, 
Nodding beside a rippling brook; 
The violets all gold and blue, 
Kissed by the morn's refreshing dew. 
Their golden eyes held wishes vast, 
Their purple spoke of a regal past. 

A sea of wee, gay, dancing fellows, 

Were fields of dandelions yellow ; 

They murmured and chattered, and danced and 

sung, 
For the world was new, and the spring was young. 
And the secrets they whispered were ages old. 
Back when the dawn of the world flushed gold. 

Along the ground in trellis wrought, 
There bloom.ed the sweet forgetmenots. 
They blushed and sighed, ah me, ah my; 
That love doth live ; live but to die. 
Then straight forgot their fears and turned 
To the blazing west, where the sunset burned. 

I feared to move in this world of flowers. 

Living and loving mid leafy bowers; 

For I brought a breath of the world of work, 

Where toil is a duty, none may shirk. 

Here fairy hands sweet incense swing. 

At the altar of the dreaming spring. 



51 



A Weaver of Dreams 



THERE IS NO DEATH 

Why speakest thou to me of death, 
When death can never be: 

'Tis but another phase of life 
And immortality. 

'Tis but the throes of newer birth, 
The break of a newer dawn ; 

A gleaming pathway where the soul 
May journey ever on. 

The dear ones who have passed beyond 
The pale of woe and tears; 

They work for you and wait for you, 
Across the copse of years. 

Beyond the weeping and the crying; 

They dwell in peace unknown, 
Ever working toiling upward, 

Toward a newer home. 

There are no dead — there are no lost, 
There are no souls in Hell ; 

Our God would sanction no such home, 
He loves us far too well. 

He fashioned man in his own form, 
And gave him mind and soul ; 

And cast him on life's checker board, 
To reach his chosen goal. 



52 



A Weaver of Dreams 



But if he weary 'neath the load, 

His burdens grow too great; 
And careworn, footsore, weak and ill. 

He sinks beneath its weight. 

Think thou that God would cast that soul 

Into eternal flame; 
And never give the spark of life 

A chance to burn again. 

No, past the misty gates of death. 

There are no searing fires ; 
But loving thoughts and words and deeds 

And good work and desires. 

Through love on love, and life on death, 
We pass through our progress strange ; 

And ever anon we leave that shell 
And grow to a higher change. 

There is no loss of life or thought. 

Not one mere atom dies; 
But reaching upward, towers aloft 

To the mansions in the skies. 

The loved ones whom the world calls dead, 

They live and who shall say; 
That we shall never speak with them. 

When the mists have rolled away. 

Even here upon the earthy sphere 
Who says they shall not come; 

And rend apart the spirit veil 
To speak with their loved ones. 
53 



A Weaver of Dreams 



For they who live the larger life, 

Enjoy the wider sphere; 
Why should they not watch over us 

Their loved ones waiting here. 

They seek to guide our faltering feet, 
To stay our erring hands; 

And give us words of comfort 
From beyond the spirit lands. 

And when our race of life is o'er, 
And we face the change alone; 

Our loved ones w^ill be waiting near, 
To lead us on to home. 

There is no death — but life on life, 
Our feet the pathways press; 

And toiling upward, reach at last, 
Our souls' eternal rest. 

THIS IS THE WAY 

Winds o'er the storm swept lea, 

That wail like a soul's unrest 
The inky clouds that show no rift 

Of silver on their crest. 
The crash of heaven's artillery 

Where the Gods of War are born, 
And the play of fiery lightning, 

This is the way of the storm. 

A look from eyes that are soul kissed, 
A clasp from a hand that thrills ; 

A symphony rare of passions 
To the tune that nature wills. 

54 



A Weaver of Dreams 



A sweet dream of home and Loved ones, 
Where peace shall dwell like a dove, 

The mortals' hope of heaven, 
This is the way of love. 

The roar and the din of battle, 

Through the blood marred night and noon; 
The prayers and the tears of the dying 

Whose souls have been called too soon. 
A scorn of the Christ and his message 

A hatred we know not for, 
And a mighty white man's burden, 

This is the way of war. 

A bud from the garden of angels, 

That bloomed in a mother's breast ; 
Of all that life can offer 

This seemeth to me the best. 
The long hard path of our earth years 

The joy, the sorrow and strife 
Then rest in the gardens eternal 

This is the way of life. 

ONLY YESTERDAY 

And was it yesterday his hair was tossed 

A golden halo in the summer breeze 
And w^as it yesterday he knelt at prayer 

His rosy face pressed on my mother knee 
I know 'twas only yesterday I tucked 

The covers close about his curly head 
Yet here I hold a telegram which says 

*'We much regret to state, your boy is dead." 

a 



A Weaver of Dreams 



On Flanders field he fought and fell and died 

And sleeps tonight among the unknown dead 
And night and morn the screaming shells speed past 

And guard his rest within his lonely bed 
It seems to me a million years have passed 

Since his drowsy head bowed at my knee to pray 
And the golden hair tossed to the summer breeze 

Or was it — was it only yesterday. 

THE LOOM OF LIFE 

What is it all in the scheme of things, 
Our Little Loves and our puny hates 

Our heartaches, tears and shattered dreams. 
Our useless hammering at the gates of fate. 

Love that dims like the stars in the dawn, 
Builded on the shifting sands of time 

Glowing with rainbow hues in the morning 
Paling and drooping in the white moonshine. 

Our lives are like a prayer rug from the east. 
The days and years are woven in its loom. 

The glowing hours of j^outh, the rippling waters 
While lilies dancing 'neath the love mad moon. 

The gossamer threads in the woof of our lives 
Are the silver and gold of youth's sweet dreaming 
hours, 

And we are the weavers who spin in the sun, 
In the garden of years, with its riot of flowers. 



i6 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Our struggle for the golden lure of wealth 

Our long, hard journey through the years to fame, 

An hour upon the pinnacle then swift decay, 
And lingering down the after years, a name. 

And what shall comfort us when love has died, 
When friends are false, and evening shadows fall, 

About our feet, like toys, lie shattered dreams. 
And death's clear handwriting, on the castle walls. 

'Tis then, when we shall sit alone and think. 
In the clear understanding of a higher sphere. 

The veil shall rend, and we shall understand 
The moves of fate, that mystified us here. 

For in the mighty game of life and fate, 
Like pawns, the master moves us at his will 

And when the tides and currents run too high 
His voice rings clear, commanding "Peace be 
Still." 

And face to face upon the road of ages. 

We shall walk and talk with him through flower- 
ing dells. 
And peace and rest, if this shall be our watchword, 
"I have fought a good fight, I have kept my faith 
well." 



^ 



A Weaver uf Dreams 



ON FLANDERS FIELD 

1 heard a mother sob and say, 

On Flanders field he fell and died 
And sleeps among the unknown dead 

Where little crosses side by side 
And row on row are reared aloft 

Above the shell torn, blood stained sod 
Showing where heroes passed the road 

To glory and to God. 

And then the mother dried her eyes 

The light of pride chased tears away 
What more could I ask in his name 

My son was one who lead the way 
But one among the thousands more 

The flower of youth, who dared the chance 
And I am proud he sleeps tonight 

Beneath the lily fields of France. 

Above his head the poppies blow, 

Across his bed the Legions pass 
And all the world is thrilled with joy 

For peace is come at last, at last 
And he was one who "carried on" 

He and the knighthood of our lands. 
To save the world for freedom's cause 

And prove the brotherhood of man. 



S8 



A Weaver of Dreams 



He did not die on Flanders field 

His soul but left its earthly frame 
And passed into a wider sphere 

Where they wrote "Hero" by his name. 
And his good dust in its earth bed 

That rests beneath the rude wood cross 
Will live a new in lily blooms 

To show no soul or form is lost 

His soul sleeps not in Flanders field 

Drunk with glory of bloodshed and fight 
It has cross the waves, and his spirit kneels 

At the feet of his mother tonight 
There are hours when I dream what his life might 
have been 

And my mother heart broods and cries 
But with freedom's bright banner unfurled o'er the 
world 

I would not have it otherwise. 

OPPORTUNITY 

At last the golden gates of chance have opened 

At last a voice has bid me "enter in" 
And on the other side of fate's well guarded door, 

Before me lies a world to lose or win 
And on the gleaming sands that spread before me 

Are footprints of the great who passed this way 
Whose names live on, a blaze of golden glory 

As fresh, as in their fleeting youth's heyday. 
I long not for the lure of gold, but fame, 

To reach the pinnacle — and leave a name. 



59 



A PVeaver of Dreains 



To leave a name that down the years will echo 

To leave some work that through all time will live 
To feel that I have given of my soul thoughts 

Of love and dreams, the best I had to give. 
To feel that when the dawn of death is breaking 

Not fear, but trust encompass me about 
To sink to sleep in perfect understanding 

As one by one life's candles twinkle out 
To sleep, to dream, and wake when shadows flee 

To Paradise, now work, and perfect harmony. 

What matter if I find love not enduring 

The years can never stretch on drab and long 
Where other hearts are breaking, lives are empty, 

I can fill my heart and life with song, 
I can see the glory in the sunset 

That paints its lurid pastel in the sky 
And feel the wonder of the breaking dawn 

And the mystic splendor, where the shadows lie; 
I can sing the songs of life and love, of death and 
fate 

And look beyond the veil of years, where rest and 
victory wait. 

WAR— WHAT FOR? 

I stood on an old world battle field 

As the silver night came down, 
And the moonlight gleamed with a somber light 

On the dead men heaped around ; 
And the thrall of the place was upon my soul, 

Like the weird night mist of the moor ; 
Loud I raised my voice and cried to the night, 

God — what are they fighting for? 

60 



A Weaver of Dreams 



And a cloud went skidding across the moon, 
While the night owl shrieked in fear, 

And lo, there was borne on the wind a stir, 
Like a wailing on a mere ; 

Slowly the stiffened bodies rose, 
. And formed into line of march ; 

I faced an army of the dead, 
'Neath heaven's starlit arch. 

While a voice cried out through the stifled air — 

Lo, here on this field you see 
An army who battled and fell today, 

To preserve a monarchy. 
They died for gold, for greed and gain, 

And the woeful love of lust. 
'Twas not God's wish, but a monarch's will 

That lowered them to dust. 

But woe to the kingdoms of temporal power. 

They shall perish and fall as Rome, 
And the crowned heads shall surely be 

As men without countn^ or home. 
For I hear through the din of the cannons' roar, 

And the clank of the slavers' chains. 
A hymn that shall ring down the ages of time, 

When earth shall know peace again. 

For the hymn is a new^ chant of freedom's lure, 

When fetters are all swept away, 
And the horrors of war shall forever be sunk 

In the birth of a newer day. 
There shall be no dead countries and desolate homes. 

And poverty stalking abroad. 
But rich verdant acres, and freedom for all. 

In the far reaching country of God. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



The voice died away with a triumphant chant, 

And the night wind was sobbing anew, 
And the dead men were heaped on the gory death 
field, 

Awaiting the balm of the dew. 
I shivered and turned toward the east and the dawn, 

And the promise of life that was dear, 
While behind me I heard a stir on the wind, 

Like a wailing on a mere. 

THE LAY OF THE STORM KING 

Oh, the storm king reigns tonight on his throne. 
In his wondrous palace of ice and snow, 

In the far of¥ land of the frozen wastes, 
Where the Aurora Borealis glows. 

Where the cold north stars dance past in glee, 
To their home on the banks of the Zuyder Zee. 

Oh, the storm king swept from the north in the 
night. 

He stormed from the portals of no man's land. 
And the cold dawn broke, and the pale sun rose 

On a white world, hushed by an icy hand, 
On casement and sill the snow drifts lay. 

Where the roses bloom in the sweet June days. 

A million fairy hands had wrought 

A filigree of purest white. 
That changed the forest of gaunt, black trees 

To a court of splendor over night. 
They swayed their branches in mystic rhyme. 

And forgot to dream of spring's budding time. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



And only the streams 'neath their blankets of ice 
Murmured and dreamed of the blazing noons 

Of cool, dark spots where the rushes waved, 

And the frog chorus piped their chant to the 
moon, 

Of rose hued dawns, and the sunset's glow, 

And the nooks, where the white pond lilies blow. 

Oh, the storm king reigns on his crystal throne, 
In his wondrous palace of snow and ice, 

And his revelers dance in the long, dim halls, 
Through the reach of the long, dark arctic nights, 

And the cold north stars dance past in glee, 
To their home on the banks of the Zuyder Zee. 

END OF THE RACE 

Bid me farewell my love, and go, 
A kiss I press on your brow of snow; 

I would not have you with me here. 

To watch life's strugle when death draws near. 

Go, while my lips can smile at you, 

Ere my forehead is bathed with death's damp dew. 
Go while my weary eyes are clear 

Of the blinding film, when death is near. 

Go, while my hand can clasp your own, 

And I dream of the past, of you and home. 

Go, ere I marshal my forces here 

For the battle grim, when the foe draws near. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



All through the stretches of night's deep gloom, 
All through the hours of the blood stained noon ; 

Through the lull of the firing I dreamed of you, 
Of our life to come, when the war was through. 

Ah love, I never knew that here 

You would stand by my rude and blood stained 
bier. 
I did not know that your lips would press 

My stiffening lips in a last caress. 

But the die is cast, and the game is done, 
And the race of the soldier boy is run. 

A long farewell, a last caress, 
The roll of drums, eternal rest. 

THE VOICE 

Oh, the women they are waking 

From an age of dreamless sleep. 
They are calling for their living souls. 

Men buy, and hold in keep. 
They are tired of winding shuttles. 

They are weary of the loom, 
And their eyes are gazing onward, 

Where the rose of knowledge blooms. 

And their eyes hold all the longings 

Of a soul, but newly waked. 
They have supped the wine of freedom, 

And their thirst must now be slaked ; 
They are rising from their shackles 

That have bound like welded steel; 
They are answering the war songs 

That are surging peal on peal. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



'Tfs the clan call of the ages, 

And the notes ring clear and deep 
O'er the wastes and o'er the cities, 

Where the souls of women sleep. 
From hill and vale they sweep along, 

Step by step with man they march 
Up the broad highway of knowledge, 

Through the gates of freedom's arch. 

They are rocking still the cradle, 

But the voice of progress calls. 
That the world has need of women, 

That the home must not claim all. 
And they cast aside the sackcloth, 

Leave the spindle and the wheel, 
And the soul awakes and answers, 

Like a lover to the peals. 

They are fighting for a heritage, 

For a million women yet unborn, 
They are sending forth their clan call. 

In the silence of the morn. 
And the men are prating wildly 

Of a woman's place and plan, 
They are chanting forth their love notes. 

Like the shrilling pipes of Pan. 

And the chains that man has welded 

Round the woman and the home. 
And the hand that rocked the cradle, 

Through the weary night alone. 
Oh, the chains have grown so rusty 

From the woman's buried life. 
But her soul now hears the whispers 

From the world of toil and strife. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



And she goes forth from the hearthstone, 

Puts her shoulder to the wheel, 
And her heart throbs with the world pulse 

She has learned to think and feel. 
She finds beyond the walls of home 

That other women dare and do, 
And rising from her sheltered plane, 

The woman learns to live anew. 

And she brings back to the hearth and home 

And the rocking cradles of future years, 
A breath of dreams from the great, wide world. 

And some of the old earth's smiles and tears, 
And she makes the world a better place 

From mountain high to desert sand, 
And we find the hand that rules the cradle 

Is the hand that helps to rule the land. 



COME TO ME 

When the daylight fades, and the twilight deepens 

Come to me 
When out of the east come the night winds sweeping 

Come to me. 
When the night with the odor of musk rose is filled, 
And the jessamine clambouring over the sill, 
And gold hearted daisies are cresting the hill. 

Come to me. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Out from the dreaming isles of mist 

Come to me. 
Out from the poppy fields, ever sun kissed 

Come to me. 
Out from the roving never lands 
Out from the valley of shifting sands 
Burst thou asunder the galling death bands 

Come to me. 

I cannot wait till my race is run 

Come to me. 
I cannot endure till my life is done 

Come to me. 
My arms are empty that once were filled 
My heart is frozen that once was thrilled 
And the cry wells up that will not be stilled 

Come to me. 

'Tis the call of a soul that has lost its mate 

Come to me. 
It may be God's will, or it may be fate 

But come to me. 
Or if from the nether lands cross the sky 
They cannot return who once have died 
Then out from the land of mortals I 

Must go to you. 

THE SONG OF THE ROSES 

'Twas June, and the roses were blooming, 
Roses of white, pink and red. 

Went clambouring over the casement 
And climbed to the lattice o'erhead. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



I sat in the mellow sunlight, 

That foretold the close of the day 

And my soul went into the roses 
And I heard the blossoms say. 

Oh, the sweet white rose for purity 

The pink if for beauty rare 
And the red, red rose is the passion 

The human heart can bear. 

But the flaming heart of the red rose 

Soon withers and fades away 
And it feels the breath of destruction 

Ere the close of a summer day. 

The pink lives on through the season 
For the Father hath deemed it well 

That the souls of the life he hath moulded 
Shall have beautiful outer shells. 

But the white lives long and is sweetest 
'Til the autumn's piercing chill 

Yellows the ivory petals, 

And scatters them on the sill. 

And the roses to me seem a symbol 

Of love's endurance and power 
The white rose everlasting 

And the passion of one short hour. 

For the love that worships the fleshpots 

On the altar of human clay 
Soon spends itself and its passion 

In one long riotous day. 
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A Weaver of Dreams 



And the love of pink cheeked beauty 
If it hold no soul enshrined, 

Is like a wondrous painting, 
With a skeleton hid behind. 

For age soon furrows the forehead 

And silvers the waving hair 
And shrivels the skin of ivory, 

Once rosy, and sweetly fair. 

If love must vanish with beauty 
What sorrows the years will hold, 

How empty life's golden harvest 
When the days of life are old. 

But the pure love of the white rose 
Is like priceless jewels and gold 

It lasts through youth and manhood 
It sweetens the lives of the old. 

Death may come, but up from the ashes 
Springs new love, divinely fair. 

With the moon mist in her eyes 
And the star dust in her hair. 

It towers aloft like a lily. 
And reaches to Heaven's gate 

Where the dreaming gardens of Paradise 
And the loving Father waits. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE SONG OF VICTORY 

Oh the jessamine is clinging, 

To the casement and the sill, 
And the moon is in its waning 

And the dawn is pale and still 
And the ivy green is climbing 

Clinging to the garden wall, 
And the balm of dew is falling 

And the world has heard a call. 

And the roses waft their fragrance 

Like the breath of loves that die 
And the pool down in the marsh lands 

Echoes back the night birds cry 
In the glamour of the moonlight 

Earth and heaven seem enhanced, 
And the dew seems tears and life blood 

Shed tonight in far off France. 

But the dawn now breaks in glory 

And the soft night creeps away, 
And the dew kissed flowers awaken 

To greet the new born day 
And the breeze sings through the roses 

While the garden hears entranced 
For it seems a chant of victory, 

Echoing from far off France. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Oh, across the foaming waters 

Comes the dulled roar of the guns, 
And the battle cry of freedom, 

They are driving back the Huns. 
And I hear a mighty tramping, 

O'er the flag the sunbeams dance, 
'Tis America returning. 

In hand with victory and France. 

MEMORIES 

Memories, those memories of days and dreams long 
dead, 

How swift the changing present goes a-winging 
o'er our heads, 

And down the road to yesterday, we gaze with long- 
ing eyes, 

And wonder why our sweetest dreams of love and 
hope must die. 

Adown the land to yesterday, the way is overgrown 
With tangled weeds, and underbrush, and withered 

roses blown; 
And where of yore the hollyhocks, their stately 

guard did keep, 
The past is now a cryptic tomb, where our dearest 

memories sleep. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Memories, those memories, that sweep from twilight 

land, 
When night comes down, and the harvest moon, 

is swung by angel hands. 
Wrapped in the halo of romance, sweet with the 

memories of you, 
Turn back the world to yesterday, and let my 

dreams come true. 

In the dreaming gardens of Paradise, where the 
stretching desert sands, 

Are burned to gold, I would meet you there, in yes- 
terday's fair land. 

And down the winding, moon kissed paths to the 
days that used to be. 

We will walk the road to yesterday, and live in 
memories. 

THE SOLDIERS' PRAYER 

Out of the depths we cry unto thee, 

Lord, hear our prayer. 
We are the souls of unnumbered dead, 

Slain on the war fields there. 

We are the toll of a monarch's greed. 
The price of a blood stained crown. 

We are the pillars of tottering thrones, 
Soon to crumble to the ground. 

We fought and we fell on the gory field, 

We sleep in the forest and glen, 
We stained on the ground with the blood and tears, 

And the flower of our youth and men. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



We knew not what we were fighting for, 

But spurred by an iron will, 
We smelled the blood of our fellow men. 

And the beast man stalked to kill. 

We wasted thy lands, oh Lord, with the fray, 
Thy lands that were fruitful and green, 

They stretch in the sickly light, barren with hate. 
And echo the cannons' shrill scream. 

Call us, oh Lord, from the shadows of night, 
Hear our soul prayer from the deep; 

We are so weary of fighting and fray. 
We long for the peace of sweet sleep. 

We ask that the monarchs of conquest shall fall. 
Make the reign of the tr\'ant to cease, 

Let freedom's flag wave unsullied for aye, 
O'er the whole world united in peace. 

Make the men of the nations and countries to be 
As brothers with hands clasped in love, 

Make the war fields to wave again with gold grain 
To prove thy forgiveness and love. 

The souls of the dead who have fallen in war, 

Lift our voices in prayer to thee. 
Stretch forth thy hand, and still the strife. 

That rages o'er land and sea. 

And forgive thy erring children. Father, 

For men are as blundering babes; 
They covet the baubles of wealth and power. 

And the gold where the rainbow fades. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Make their hearts to turn to the things of God, 
Kill their thirst for their brother's blood, 

Let the mantle of peace fall over the world, 
Encompass us with divine love. 

SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND 

In the glowing heart of the roselands, 

On the uplands of goldenrod, 
In the land of the white field daisies, 

These are the haunts of God. 

Not in the heart of the city. 

Where sin and hunger meet; 
Not in the wistful faces 

Of the children of the streets. 

Oh, the childish souls that are trampled, 
Oh, the roses robbed of their bloom, 

And the small hands, grown too skillful 
At the work of the spindle and loom. 

Their voices sweet should mingle 

With the songs of the birds and brooks, 

And their tired little feet should wander 
O'er the hillside's shady nooks. 

God rules not o'er the great wheels 
That are turned by baby hands; 

These are the toils of the greed king. 
These are the haunts of man. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Where the tired soul, worn with toiling 

From early morn till night, 
Finds surcease in the turmoil 

Of the city's blinding lights. 

Where the beast stalks forth for the killing, 
The vultures of soul and blood, 

And trammel down in the city's mire 
The banners of womanhood. 

Where human souls are bartered, 

And honor sells for a song; 
Where the days are short and feverish. 

And the nights are glaring and long. 

Christ sits, no throne in the city, 

Man rules here at his will. 
Nor heeds the shadows darkening, 

As they did round Calvary hill. 

But out in the sunlit meadows. 
And up on the wind-swept moor. 

In the mossy nooks of the femglades, 
Is the God you are searching for. 

The God of the flowers and the sunshine, 
The God of the birds and the trees, 

Who taught "Be as little children, 
And ye shall walk with me." 

About him the glamour of moonmist, 
And the star dust forms his crown. 

The flowers spring up where his feet press, 
White as the thistle down. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



With the hearts of little children, 

Seek him and ye shall find, 
A peace the tired soul knew not, 

In the city you left behind. 

Go out to the sun kissed meadows, 

Go up on the wind-swept moor, 
And there in the dawn of the morning, 

Find the God you are searching for. 

THE BROKEN CIRCLE 

Oh, the deep sorrow my heart knows tonight 
The wild prayers my torn soul has cried 

My heart has gone down through the valley of death 
With the soul of my sweet promised bride. 

Like the roses of June she has faded 

In the bloom of her youth she has passed 

Like a caravan over the desert 

Or the wind soughing through the tall grass 

Like a pale, drooping flower they have lain her 

On her last bed of satin and lace 
Where the flickering rays of the candles 

Cast a rosy glow o'er her still face 

Did the long drooping lashes upcurl, 

Did the the marble cheek flush and grow red 

Or was it the play of my fancy 
As I keep silent watch by my dead. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Oh, how can the stars in their beauty 

Pace on in the wake of the night 
And how can the dew kiss the roses 

In the first dawning flush of the light. 

And how can the angels of glory 

Chant paeons for this gathered flower 

I know she would barter her heaven 
To lie in my arms for an hour. 

On her cold silent lips I have kissed her 
And the candle light flickered and died 

Ah, could my caresses awake her 

I'd call her my sweet promised bride. 

But death, the great gambler has claimed her 
And called her across the dark foam 

And she has gone into his vineyards 
And left me to sorrow alone. 

Oh, the deep sorrow my heart knows tonight 
I mourn for the sweet soul out there 

Leaving me here with the dread aftermath 
Of loneliness, anguish and prayer. 

ZEDA 

In a quaint old Moorish garden, 
Where the moonlight loves to stray, 

I kept my tryst with Zeda, 
At the close of a summer day. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



In a blaze of burnished glory, 

The sun had long since died, 
And down in the reedy marshes, 

The heron and night wren cried. 

And out from the east came sweeping 
The night winds, soft and cool, 

To silver the rippling waters 
Of the garden's mystic pool. 

And down the path in the moonlight 

Came Zeda, with eyes aglow. 
To answer my trembling question, 

Would it be yes or no. 

About her the glamour of moonmist. 
And the star light kissed her hair, 

The cool night winds caressed her, 
She seemed divinely fair. 

How could I hope to win her, 

This queen on the night's dark throne, 

How could I hope to place her, 
A queen, in my humble home. 

But her eyes were ashine with love light, 
And a sweet smile on her face. 

And bold as the age old lover, 
I clasped her in my embrace. 

The sweetest kiss ere given, 

Was placed on my lips that night. 

And the moon climbed high in the heavens. 
And kissed the garden white. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



The years have blossomed and faded 
Since our tryst in the garden fair, 

And time has furrowed our foreheads, 
And tinted with silver, our hair. 

But we have found our love enduring, 
And when sorrows beset our way, 

We have found new love in roaming 
Down the road to yesterday. 

And the sweetest of all the memories 
That stretch back through my life, 

Is that tr}^st in the quaint old garden, 
With Zeda — my wife. 

A REVERIE 

I rest at evening in my easy chair. 

Beside the organ, from whose ivory keys 

My wife, with deft and skillful touch doth draw 
A harmony of lovely melodies. 

The gold glow of the light doth touch her form, 
Across her face the flittering shadows play, 

Her eyes are dewy with the light of love, 
The love that lasts forever and a day. 

Our loves entwined seem all that we can wish ; 

She brings the sun and beauty to my day; 
'Tis only when the lamp light's glow is golden, 

That life as we have lived it slips away. 

And from the misty shadows of the corner, 
A figure softly forms from out the gloom; 

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A ' Weaver of Dreams 



A shy young face and merry eyes of azure, 
That laugh at me across the dusky room. 

She was the first love of my boyish fancy, 

She won me with her sweet and simple wiles ; 

I laid my heart before her dainty feet, 

I dreamed of slaying dragons for her smile. 

We roamed awhile through Arcady together, 
But when the springtide touched the hill and vale, 

Her little feet grew weary of their dancing; 
The rosebud turned into a lily pale. 

And less and less we strolled the paths together, 
'Til, when the world in autumn gold was dressed ; 

They laid the lily in a bed of satin, 

And gave her back to God, who loved her best. 

The years have passed, and man's estate has brought 
me 

Another love, as true and dear to hold, 
But somehow, there is just one sacred corner, 

Kept holy for the little girl of old. 

Not that I hold the latter love less dear, 

But that the old was youth's sweet blossom time; 

And all the thrills that poets dream and write of, 
For that one spring in Paradise were mine. 

And when the night is dreaming in the heavens. 
And when the summer flowers with dew are 
wet, 
The love that God did claim creeps from the 
shadows. 
To prove she lives, and never will forget. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



BACKWARD, TURN BACKWARD 

Before you cross the mystic sea, 

To the bright Elysian shore, 
Past the sun glow and the moon mist. 

And the days that are no more. 

Before life's last day vanishes 

Into the sunset's glow, 
When the pale moon paces from the east, 

And the flame of life is low. 

Ere you enter the flaming barge, 

To cross the foaming sea. 
Promise that in that Arcady, 

That you'll remember me. 

Tell me the past is buried dear, 

Forgotten and forgiven ; 
Say you hope we meet again. 

Across the gates of heaven. 

The misunderstandings that have been. 

Like pitfalls on life's lane, 
Let's wipe them out with a healing kiss, 

And be sweethearts once again. 

Through all our cares I have loved you dear, 

With each fiber of my heart; 
And the vows we made will bind for aye. 

Though death for an hour, do us part. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Let us not part in anger dear, 

It would be too hard to bear; 
I would be sorrowing here alone, 

Remorse would court you there. 

To you comes the greatest happiness, 

For you are going home, 
But I am left on life's highway, 

To face the days alone. 

To face the nights of memory, 

So poignant, and bitter sweet, 
I dread the path that widens out, 

Before my faltering feet. 

Kiss me as you used to kiss me. 

Before we knew life's pain ; 
Let's go back to our glad free youth, 

And be sweethearts once again. 

Now close your eyes and slumber on. 

Fear not, I will hold you tight, 
'Til your feet have passed through the shadowy vale, 

And on to the highways of light. 

And I will await your homing call, 

By the bright Elysian shore. 
And I will come when you need me dear, 

Past the days that are no more. 

There we shall find no sorrowing hearts, 

No anguish, or bitter pain. 
But in some flower kissed Eden, dear, 

We'll be sweethearts once again. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN 

THIS 

When on the highway of life we are traveling, 
Splashed with sunlight, and shadows and gray ; 

Whether skies be dark, or mellowed with gold, 
That glows at the end of a perfect day. 

As through the long, torturous byways we wend, 

Be a friend and a comrade to man, 
And to those who have weakened and fell by the 
way, 

Lend a hand, comrade, lend a hand. 

To each of us comes a Gethsemene hour, 

And most of us climb to a Calvary's height. 

Bearing our burden of sorrow and pain. 
Friendless, alone, encompassed by night. 

Step out from the Pharasees, scorning and cold. 
And lend the poor wanderer a hand ; 

Show that the spirit of Christ still lives on. 
Be a friend and a comrade to man. 

What a glow then will kindle deep in the tired eyes ; 

What a prayer from that heart will ascend 
For greater love hath no man than this, 

That he lay down his life for a friend. 

The years will pass on, and your rest will draw nigh, 
And the star of your fame will burn low; 

But mansions are waiting the fellows of men, 
In the land where the lily blooms blow. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



And you shall fear not, for the crucified Christ 
Will lead you and lend you a hand, 

And rest, and the laurels of victory are there 
For the friends and comrades of man. 

VOICES OF THE CITY 

Ah, what is the lure of the blinding lights, 

And the throb of the city's heart, 
With its human driftwood of myriad souls. 

Without a compass or chart. 
What is this to the lure of the deep, cool woods, 

With its network of sun light and gloom; 
Its riotous beauty of noonday hours, 

And the long silver lanes of the moon. 

And what is the fire when the wine glows red, 

To the rose of the waking dawn, 
Or the lurid riot of blood stained clouds, 

As the night comes pacing on. 
I feel the old thrills stir my blood, 

Of pirate and warrior bold. 
And the blood goes coursing through my veins, 

Like a fire of molten gold. 

Souls there are who are fed with glare 

Of the city, and drunk with its wine ; 
But my heart longs for the open lands 

That bloom in the gold sunshine; 
Where the mad moon kisses the laughing brook, 

And the white stars whisper and sigh. 
And down in the heart of the marsh lands near. 

Echoes the wren, and the night owl's cry. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Yes, some there be who can steep their lives 

In the city's brimming sea, 
But up on the wind-swept mountain heights; 

Aye, that is the life for me. 
Alone with the flowers, and the trees and God, 

Afar from the world and its strife ; 
Here where the great pulse of nature throbs, 

Come learn the lesson of life. 



DEAD DAYS 

Youth's sweet dreaming time 
Dropping slowly from my shoulders 
Like a cloak of dreams 
I seek to clasp and hold its substance, 
But it fades away, 

Dreams vanish ere the dawn and leave, 
The cold, clear day 

Dead youth. 

Youth's sweet loving time, 
Speeding cross the crimson poppy fields, 
A gadfly's lure, 
I strive to stir the embers 
Of past loves into flame, 
But chill as death the winds that sear them 
Leaving but a name. 

Dead loves. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



DOWN MEMORIES WAY 

Sunset, dusk and the evening star 

And the dreams that come with the night 
When the horned moon climbs o'er the fringe of 
pines, 

And the milky way gleams white 
When night sweeps on in her sable robes, 

And the candles of heaven burn high, 
And down in the heart of the stirring marsh, 

The mournful night winds sigh. 

Then the hopes and the dreams we thought long 
dead. 

And the loves of those bygone days 
Come trooping past, like spectres pale 

Down memories misty way, 
Oh the wild free days of youth's springtime, 

With its dreams and its hopes soaring high, 
Ere the eyes dim from watching with sorrow, 

Life's dearest hopes, one by one die. 

Sunset, dusk and the evening star. 

When the fires of life burn low, 
And our feet press down through the shadowy vale, 

And the chilling death winds blow. 
But oh, afar are the gleaming lights. 

And the dawn of a newer day. 
And the friends, and the loved ones gone before, 

Are waiting down memories way. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE KEY 

The joys for which we work and wait, 

Are all within our keeping, 
A kingdom waits for man to win, 

But master mind is sleeping. 

For years we toil, and wait, and weep. 
That love and fame pass by; 

And in despair we raise our hands, 
To the impotent sky. 

When all the joys that earth can hold. 

Are ours, if we can see; 
For we are mind, and mind is power, 

And each man holds life's key. 

A key of love, that perfect fits 
Each lock, divinely fashioned ; 

Unbars each door of our desires. 
By love and thought impassioned. 

Our steps may run by lowly dells, 
Our feet tread paths unknown ; 

So lofty, and so far from earth. 
We walk with God, alone. 

The great creative power that moves, 
The grooves of life and law. 

Is centered in man's soul, but yet 
The material is raw. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Let us awake and know ourselves, 
Earth's myriad wonders see, 

And to life's treasure, love and hope 
And prayer shall find the key. 

TWILIGHT DREAMS 

When dusk creeps o'er the waiting earth, 

And the hush of evening falls ; 
And ghostly firelight shadows, 

Lurk on the parlor walls. 
In that mysterious hour. 

Between the dusk and night; 
When like a soul in its passing, 

Day lingers ere its flight. 

You come mother mine, with the evening, 

Glide soft into the room. 
And your eyes with their glow of heaven. 

Beam through the murky gloom. 
The balm of your peaceful presence. 

Descends like the love of God, 
Ah, would I could walk with mother, 

The paths the saints have trod. 

For life seems an empty promise. 

And the way is weary and long; 
God took from me a mother. 

And deprived my lips of song. 
But sometimes when shadows deepen. 

And you keep your tryst with me ; 
My eyes see beautiful pictures. 

Of the land beyond life's lea. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



For your sweet eyes tell of heaven, 

And your kiss is the touch of love; 
Your face brings a beautiful message, 

Of the joys that wait above. 
And it gives me hope for the morrow, 

And a will to dare and do; 
For after the workday is ended, 

Comes twilight and twilight means you. 

WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE 

The dream hour comes, when the twilight dies, 

A blaze in the western sky; 
When the silver dusk comes out from the east, 

And the magic night winds sigh. 

Then I close my eyes on the garnished room, 

And there comes to my inner sight; 
A magic, who whispers, the hour is here, 

Where wouldst thou wander tonight. 

And I thought of the east, the rare scented east, 

The land of the spice and romance. 
Where soft whispered mysteries, and secrets untold, 

Seem only her charm to enhance. 

I pass through the cities, white walled and sun 
kissed, 

My feet on the warm desert sands; 
Tread soft in the wake of the caravan; 

En route to strange foreign lands. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Then swift as a bird on the wing I am borne 
To the white frozen wastes of the north, 

Where the forest ends at the dead white line ; 
And the cold north stars gleam forth. 

I sail the high seas, and the deck that I tread, 

Is red with the blood of the fray. 
A pirate bold am I, who wins, 

A fortune in a day. 

My good ship flies the black flag "death," 

The cargo in the hold; 
I stripped from ships come out from Spain, 

Silver, spice and gold. 

I mount a throne in far ancient Greece, 

A scepter, gold crusted, I sway ; 
And learn the old lesson, how kingdoms may rise ; 

How empires may fall in a day. 

To battle I ride forth a knight of the cross, 
My mail coat gleams bright in the sun; 

My keen sword is dripping with human blood. 
When the long, long day is done. 

I have been a monk in a white walled town, 

In a mountain fastness high; 
My chant rolled up with a thousand more. 

To the throne in the vaulted sky. 

I have leaped the rigging in sea-bound ships, 
While my heart beat high with joy, 

For life was sweet, and free from care; 
To the merry sailor boy. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Gone are my dreams, I ope my eyes, 

But night and her nether gloom; 
Have vanished an hour or so from my sight, 

The day and the garnished room. 

I have traveled far, I have traveled wide, 
Into dreamland fraught with joy; 

I have been a prince, and a pirate bold, 
And a merry sailor boy. 

I have roamed afar o'er the frozen wastes, 
Where the northern stars gleamed cold; 

My feet have padded the desert sands; 
That the sun hath burned to gold. 

I have lived before, and the memories sweet, 

Dormant within me lie ; 
But they wake and live when sunset paints, 

Her glow in the evening sky. 

And the call and the thrill of the old, wild days, 
When man and his soul were free; 

Keep the iron claws of an iron age, 
From crushing the soul of me. 

And out of the slime of modern lives. 
That the creed of wealth has bred ; 

I wander back yea, a thousand years, 
Ere the soul of man was dead. 

Yea, back when men lived by brawn and might, 
Deep I quaff from the flowing bowl; 

And smile with scorn, on the wealth-mad world, 
For I am a man with a soul. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



HEART THROBS 

Lo, I bent o'er the silent form, 

And I could not voice a prayer, 
As I pressed a kiss on the lips and thought 

How love enshrined lay there. 

For the world is wide and we may find, 

Another friend, or lover; 
But the days are dark, when the light of life, 

Dies in the eyes of a mother. 

Ah, the tired eyes closed at last in rest, 

With a peace earth cannot give. 
In its smile serene, the cold lips say. 

My race is won — I live. 

I fondly touched the still, cold hands, 

And thought, how all my life, 
They had tried to smooth my sorrow away. 

And uphold my burdens of life. 

How wise, how wondrous is the smile. 

That rests on mother's face; 
It seems to speak of sweet rewards. 

For the winners of life's race. 

On the shrine of my heart, a lovelight died, 

And who shall light another? 
For I treasure there, the ashes rare, 

Where burned the love of "Mother." 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



HIGH ACE 

How like a hasty passing dream, 
Our span of life doth speed apace; 

And in a few short years we make 
A winning, or a losing race. 

The stage of life has many scenes, 
And some are sad and others gay; 

We blossom forth into the world, 
And wither like a leaf away. 

We shuffle hard the deck of life, 

Whose cards are marked with tears or joy ; 
We spend our lives in search of wealth. 

Within our hands, it turns alloy. 

At opportunity we grasp, 

And worship idols of gross lust ; 

Dreams build, and ere we reach the top, 
Lo — the castle falls to dust. 

Fame shines a mighty, gleaming star; 

We seek the rainbow pot of gold ; 
Years pass — our search in nothing ends. 

And life is finished in the mould. 

And at the last, both rich and poor, 
Must bend their head to kiss the rod ; 

Unto its substance soul return, 
Our clay to mingle with the sod. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Shuffle as you please the deck, 

Some day you draw the ace of spades, 

Then reckon up all life's accounts. 
And your reward shall be a grave. 

A SUNSET REVERIE 

I lingered at the hour of eve, within a forest deep, 
And heard old nature humming, as she wafts the 

woods to sleep ; 
The filtered gold of the dying sun, crept through the 

treetops high, 
And awed my soul, for the world seemed made that 

night, for God and I 

Across the heaving waters, whose deep roar now 

seemed a sigh, 
I watched the aureole sunset pace, and waited the 

world to die ; 
So near did heaven seem to earth, so close were life 

and death, 
I thought the earth would wither, with the heat 

of heaven's breath. 

Still onward like a pageant army, the sunset colors 

sped, 
And violet, mauve and cool green lived, when the 

golden glory fled ; 
As deeper and deeper the silence grew, I felt like 

the shepherds afar. 
Who watched the night that Christ was born, the 

holy evening star. 



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A W eaver of Dreams 



And watching there I wondered, would the clouds 
there rift apace, 

And the sunset form a halo for the father's shining 
face; 

As he gathered the sheep into the fold, while the 
night its vespers tolled, 

And the world that died for sin, and lust, into ob- 
livion rolled. 

But no, the shadows deeper grew, and in the cast 

afar, 
Pale through the dying gleam of day, appeared the 

eastern star; 
A sob sighed through the waiting trees, and rays 

from the isle more blest, 
Silver gleamed where the mighty waves rolled on 

with a strange unrest. 

THE LESSON 

My life seemed an empty, cheerless blank, 

And I vainly searched from day to day; 
For the key to the door of happiness. 

On the isle of joy, where care flits away. 
For only a sip of the red w^ne of life. 

That did not bitter and sour to the taste, 
For one sweet flower on the road of years; 

That stretched on the death in a barren waste. 

One day I forgot for a moment, dull care, 

I spoke a kind word to a poor soul, distressed ; 

And lo, I was led through Arcady's maze, 
And found the gold key to life's happiness. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



And I found that the wonderful secret of life, 
The power that moves earth, and the planets 
above, 
The foundation of empires, the light of the sun, 
The power of God's might was one golden word 
"love." 

Live for others, and forget 

Thyself, and joy will come rose crowned ; 
The sun will rise and die in gold. 

Thy feet will press the upland grounds. 
The peace of heaven will soothe thy soul, 

When thou callest all men "brother" 
For the words of Christ ring down the age, 

"My flock, I bid thee love each other." 

EVEN UNTO THE LEAST OF THEM 

Once more we gather round the festal board, 

That creaks beneath its rich and luscious weight, 
And thank again, our fathers' God and ours, 

Who hath so wisely guided human fate. 
That we have never lacked the humble crust. 

Nor felt the feverish, maddening burn of drought, 
But reaching out in blind, unthinking faith. 

We grasped the many blessings that we sought. 

Shall this prayer universal rise today, 

Ah no, from hopeless, sinking souls there comes, 
From sin's dark, hidden corners of the earth. 

The bitter minor ballad of the slums. 
The biting, cold November wind doth blow, - 

These sad chords through the chill and frosty air, ^ 

To where we, feasting, sit in peace, and kill 

The trusting faith of our Thanksgiving prayer. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Upward and onward, rolling like the sea, 

The dismal dirge grows to a mighty cry; 
Rising in the heavens — "God of our fathers 

Rescue thy perishing children, for they die." 
"We ask not for the brilliant golden sunlight, 

That gilds the prosperous with its gleaming rays. 
But just a rift, our Father, in the darkness. 

To show the poor we have Thanksgiving days." 

How comes this curse of might upon the world, 

This inequality of man to man ; 
This spirit of disquiet and unrest, 

Usurping all the glory of our land. 
And shall old glory sadly droop half mast, 

In pity for her numberless unfed ; 
Shall the land of freedom ring with cries of suf- 
fering, , 

The haughty eagle, proudless, droop his head. 

Come, let us gather round the festal board, 

Creaking beneath its rich and lucious weight ; 
Again to thank our fathers' God and ours, 

Who hath so wisely guided human fate. 
But when we lift our voice in thankful prayer, 

To Him, from whom all earthly blessings come; 
Forget them not, the children of unrest. 

Nor the bitter, minor ballad of the slums. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



HIDDEN JEWELS 

Christ stilled the troubled waters on the sea of Gali- 
lee, 
And to the raging storm said "Peace be still," 
And we his chosen children, with our inner mental 
force, 
Can conquer all earth's problems if we will. 

Into each slumbering soul of man, the father hath 
instilled. 

Some portion of that great creative thought, 
Each soul is individual heir to undiscovered wealth, 

A legacy of love, that life hath brought. 

A power to grant to mortal man, his every wish and 
want. 
That harmonizes with the law of thought, 
If we in prayer and hope, desire for wants to life 
essential. 
Again will Christ's great miracles be wrought. 

There in the distance, wrapped about with mystic 
shadows deep, 
The wishes of our heart, the soul call wait. 
And if we hope with steadfast trust, nor falter in the 
lesson, 
Spirit will fling wide the gates of fate. 

Awake, and know thyself, thou sleeping soul of man 
divine. 
Know, thy power, tear from the hands of fate, 
The greatest gift of God to man, the legacy of old. 
That in the cloud wrapped distance dreams and 
waits. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



BETHLEHEM 

Oh little town of Bethlehem; 

You sleep beneath the sun; 
And dream upon the Christmas night, 

That brought the holy one. 

Oh, white walled town of memories, 
How sweet must be thy dreams, 

The manger rude, the Virgin pale, 
The new born Nazarene. 

Oh star of Bethlehem that blazed, 

The holy child to greet; 
And led the wise men of the east 

To kneel at Jesus' feet. 

Oh nights of nights, that brought the Christ 

Unwelcomed to his own ; 
The wonder of that Christmas tide, 

Has down the ages flown. 

Oh Bethlehem, the years pace on. 

Into eternity ; 
And still when chime the Christmas bells, 

We live in memories. 

Oh manger child, time shall not dim, 

The glory of thy name; 
Thy work shall live, through time to come. 

Forever and the same. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE CALL 

Oh, hey, let's away to the rocky shore, 

Let's away to the sandy lea ; 
And list to the song of the breakers 

That foam on the mighty sea. 
I long for vast stretches of water, 

Where never the city's roar, 
Nor the drone of the seething masses, 

Creeps down to the wind-lashed shore. 

But only the song of the ages, 

Sobs forth from the waters deep ; 
That wash o'er the graves mid the seaweed, 

And cradle their dead in sleep. 
Where the flaming rays of sunrise, 

Flash over the waters cold, 
And die in yon west in the even, 

In a blaze of purple and gold. 

Ho friend, you tire of the song of the sea, 

Then turn from its beauties away, 
To follow yon path, white baked by the sun. 

Of the dead past countless days. 
See now we enter the forest deep. 

In its grandeur and beauty sublime ; 
And tread its dim cathedral aisles 

Mid a chorus of evening chimes. 

The moss is soft beneath our feet, 

And the dead leaves whisper and sigh ; 

The brook flows past with a murmur, 
That echoes the night birds' cry. 

lOO 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Far, far from maddening haunts of men, 

Away from the workadaj^ life, 
We hear not the cries of the hungrj^ 

Nor the weak who fall in the strife. 

You saj' that here in nature's arms, 

You long for the city's roar, 
You long for the clash of iron on iron 

And the hunger cries of the poor. 
Mayhap's 'tis best you return to them, 

The children of sickness and sin, 
Where through the murk and soil of life, 

No sunshine filters in. 

Go thou where the rich man coins his gold, 

All tainted with toilers' blood ; 
Where the currents of life are swift and strong, 

And many drift in the flood. 
Where the strong soul crushes the weaker one, 

To toss it aside in scorn ; 
Where the riddle of life is a bitter farce, 

Of all its beauty shorn. 

Go thou where men have forgotten Christ, 

And his cross on Calvary, 
And speak the message mellow with tears. 

Left by the man of Galilee. 
And teach to the world without a soul, 

How empty the dream of gold. 
Pray men to search for the missing sheep 

Strayed out from the midst of the fold. 



lOI 



A Weaver of Dreams 



And friend, when the cross of your burdens 

Too heav)^ seemeth to be, 
Come out from the roar of the city, 

And list to the song of the sea. 
When men have forgotten the laws of life, 

Forgotten what friendship means, 
Forgotten that even the world was built, 

From the depths of a beautiful dream. 

When life's pool of darkness and murk and sin, 

Seemeth reaching alike for you. 
Lift up your eyes, and to your dreams 

Be true, my friend, be true. 
Come out to the waters entrancing, 

Come out to the forest deep, 
Where never the cares of the yesteryears, 

Nor the sobs of the sorrowing creep. 

Here sleep and rest like a weary child. 

And dream of the aisles afar. 
That wait in their wondrous beauty. 

For the children of the stars. 
And see the face of the wonder Christ, 

Whose radiance dazzles the sun, 
Bend o'er you and softly murmur, 

"Well done, my child, well done." 



i 



1 02 



A Weaver of Dreams 



TRAGEDY 

In the fragrant garden of Gethsemene, 
Beneath the waving olive trees' cool shade; 
Christ begged his followers to watch with him, 
For one short hour, while he, their teacher, prayed. 
Prayed to God for strength, that on the morrow, 
When he should face the scoffing, Jewish mob; 
He might unto his heavenly vows be true. 
And bend his princely head to kiss the rod. 

But weary eyed, they slept, and left unguarded 
The noble Jesus, so divine and meek; 
Who, when the Roman soldiers claimed him, mur- 
mured 
With pity, "they are weary, let them sleep." 
And when Judas placed the traitor's scourging kiss 
The brand upon the waiting Saviour's cheek; 
The white king smiled on him and prayed as ever, 
"Forgive his folly Father, he is weak." 

And when the Saviour of the world had stretched 

His noble form upon the cross of pain, 

When sound had died, and the whirling world stood 

still ; 
When the final moment of dissolution came. 
When the great red sun had hid its bleeding face. 
And all about the God's w^hite drooping head ; 
Strange shafts of fiery lightning seemed to flash, 
And pinions of heaven's aureole light had spread. 

WTien the body rent by human torturous pain, 
Wrenched from his paling lips, one human cry ; 
Still the blazing light of heaven, steady and true, 
Beamed on his slayers, from the soul lit eyes. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



While the immortal tragedy of the world, 
Sanctified the brow of Calvary ; 
Judas the suffering traitor hung himself, 
Far from the maddened crowd, where none might 
see. 

And listen, now the wind is sobbing sadly, 
Where nightingales last eve their carols sang, 
And there deep in the olive trees' cool shadows, 
The stiffening form of Judas Iscariot hangs. 
For he who dreamed the Christ an earth should con- 
quer, 
In love had fostered ageless tragedy; 
And made himself the scorn of worlds forever, 
And caused his name and life, accursed to be. 

Perhaps of all this Judas best had loved. 

His Christ, his Saviour and his gentle King; 

He dreamed a worldly sphere the Christ would 

conquer. 
And forever have a world his praises sing. 
He thought that when the Roman law had claimed 

him. 
That Christ, the King would come into bis own, 
And draw about him royal courts of purple, 
And be proclaimed the King of Jews and Rome. 

He did not know Christ's mission here was done. 
Nor did he know that ere three days had passed; 
The miracle of earth would be performed. 
When Christ arose and death forever passed. 
He did not know that in the book of ages, 
Christ's life on earth had been for cycles planned ; 
That he had come to save earth from destruction, 
To love the poor, and be a friend to man. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



No earthly kingdom did he come to conquer, 
He came to captivate the souls of men ; 
To teach them, **ye must be as little children, 
If ye would come and sup with me again." 
These things of Heaven the Judas did not know, 
He only knew he failed where he had tried ; 
So in the garden's gloom, and on Calvary, 
The love betrayer, and the Saviour died. 

MEMORIES 

Into the land of memories, 

Shadowed by cobwebs dim ; 
Where the light of the present and future, 

Never comes stealing in. 

I wandered one evening at sunset, 
When the west was bathed in gold ; 

Into the silver shadows 

Of a world that was old, so old. 

As I trod on the dust of centuries, 

There seemed to be a stir ; 
And a sigh among the shadows. 

Where the long dead memories were. 

There lay the padlocked sea chest, 
With garments, once white as milk; 

A hundred years of dreaming 

Have mellowed the beautiful silk. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



This wedding gown, rose scented, 

That speaks of a story apart; 
The fading sign of a love dream, 

That broke a fair maid's heart. 

That age old flintlock rifle. 

And the powder horn on the wall; 

Their owner had faced the red skins, 
And heard their warring calls. 

This bible worn and shattered, 
And near it, covered with rust; 

A sword that flashed in the battles, 
To save us from England's lust. 

This tendril of hair so golden, 

Had bound a fair knight's heart; 

But ere the flower had blossomed, 
Death tore their arms apart. 

Some memories so sacred and holy, 
We will leave them to their sleep ; 

Perfumed by powdered roses. 
While age, a dim guard keeps. 

Close the door softly behind us, 

And go out in the silver moon rays. 

And leave them dream on in their beauty, 
Those memories of olden days. 



1 06 



A Weaver of Dreams 



NIGHT 

Last night the stars were gleaming white and clear, 
The moon was wedded with a silver ring ; 

The night dew fell with soft, caressing touch, 
The morn's fair olifering to the great night king. 

The milk way entreated me to follow, 

Through myriad paths, the weeping, wandering 
throng 
Of lost souls, searching through the misty shadows, 

The road that leads them on to peace and home. 

The celestial planets moved with stately pace, 
Along their ceaseless, destined nightly way, 

Far in the east a charger raced on swiftly, 
Bringing the world another new-born day. 

Ah, that mysterious hour 'twixt dark and dawn, 
When the world doth pause upon oblivion's 
brink ; 

When in the east, the first pale flush of light 
Glows, while in the west the last stars sink. 

Like a soul that pauses on the brink of death, 
Fearing the valley, with its shadows deep, 

Beholds, faint in the sky the flush of heaven. 
The dawn of love, and goes in peace to sleep. 

The bowl of life's red wine is almost drained, 
Unseeing eyes long to be closed in sleep. 

But peace comes when the sickle cuts and fells, 
Life's threads into a quivering, silver heap. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Would that we all could pierce the misty dusk, 
Above the valley of the shadows deep, 

And looking up, behold the flush of heaven, 
The dawn of love, and sink in peace to sleep. 

ON THE BATTLEFIELD 

I stood one eve on a battlefield, 

Where the dead and dying lay, 
While the fiery sunset blazed in the west. 

At the close of a long, long day. 
And far in the east, like the shades of death, 

That had fallen that day like a pall ; 
Came the silver dusk of the moonlit night, 

And the mournful night bird's call. 
A hush fell o'er the waiting earth, 

And in the east afar. 
Lighting the path of departed souls, 

There glowed the evening star. 

The dead lay huddled on the ground, 

Some with still eyes opened wide. 
That searched the clouds, and sought to read. 

The secret of the skies. 
Some slept like children, tired of play, 

With their eyelids closed in peace ; 
As though they were waiting the day to close, 

And the bloody war to cease. 
Silently waiting the dusky eve. 

And the silver night to come. 
When the deafening roar of the cannons cease, 

And the clamour of the drums. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Who knows in what distant homes tonight, 

Fond mothers may kneel in praj'er; 
And ask the God of war to guard 

Her loves in the fray out there. 
And what of the sweethearts that wait tonight, 

In the mellow moonlight and sigh; 
For the love whom duty tore from her side. 

To fight on the field and die. 
There are homes where loved voices are silent, 

And many the vacant chairs, 
There are children acrying, and widows aweeping, 

With no one to love or to care. 

War, war, when shall that bitter curse. 

No longer scourge our land. 
When universal peace shall bring. 

The brotherhood of man. 
No more the shrapnel kill and ruin. 

The canister its harvest reap ; 
And no more war fields dot the world, 

Where the dead so silent sleep. 
When the sun sh.-'.ll die in the west each eve, 

With a peaceful rosy glow. 
And the silver dusk come out from the east. 

And the evening star burn low. 

SOLITUDE 

Where the shadows droop thickly at sunset hour, 

And the west is all aglow; 
Stretching mists, from the darkening cast. 

Fitfully come and go. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Trees cease to sway, the air grows dense, 

As the heavenly vespers toll, 
And the seagulls nest, on the ruffled breast, 

Of the sad sea waves that roll. 

Alone with the trees, the flowers, the sea, 

Away from the maddening crowd. 
Where the threads of hollow mirth and joy, 

Are woven at last into shrouds. 
Away from the ceaseless glare and din, 

I cannot escape too soon, 
Out where the soul can breathe, and is soothed. 

By the silver rays of the moon. 

The green grass is cool beneath my feet. 

From life's journey grown w^eary and sore, 
I hope but to rest in this sylvan glen, 

And leave its fair shores no more. 
Ah, look at yon planets gleaming so fair. 

They are lovely celestial homes. 
That shine, as lanterns of heaven, to lead. 

The weary ones, wandering alone. 

SLEEP 

When the glory of sunset has faded away, 

And the shadows of night are deep; 
'Tis then that beautiful visions come, 

When earth is bathed in sleep. 
White angel forms above me bend ; 

With softly fluttering wings. 
In accents of clarion sweetness rare. 

Hear heavenly voices sing. 

no 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Sleep on thou son of man, sleep on, 

For life is but a dream ; 
And in the unconscious hours of sleep. 

Thou are near the great unseen. 
Thou are near the end of the earthly path, 

When the ebb of life is low; 
In sleep thou hearest the angels sing. 

And see heaven's lilies blow. 

Sleep on thou son of man, thy soul. 

May climb to heaven's portals ; 
For only the dust, that returneth to dust. 

Hides the soul, in clay that is mortal. 
Science may delve into mysteries unsolved, 

With knowledge pluck earth's centers deep; 
Who can follow the soul in its flight; 

Leaving the earth shell asleep. 

In the mystic hours of the dusk and night, 

The sprites from the land of the dead, 
Murmur soft of Arcadian beauties unseen, 

When they sweep o'er the sleeper's head. 
Sleep on and rest, thou weary man, 

Life is short and fraught with sorrow ; 
Hope dies with dusk, but lives again. 

In the dawn of a new tomorrow. 

Sleep on, and forget the scorn of men, 

Thy soul shall leave its clay ; 
And wander in heaven till the flush of dawn, 

Heralds the newer day. 
And when the last long rest approacheth, 

And the shadowy journey is long, 
Look up, and lo, far in the east. 

Is the flush of the heavenly dawn. 

Ill 



A Weaver of Dreams 



TWO GARDENS 

This is the garden of spring, my friend, 
Where sweet flowers bloom everywhere, 

The daffodil and the hyacinth, 
And the stately lily rare. 

The blushing rose, in beauty glows, 

The queen of sweet spring love, 
And the climbing vine of the columbine, 

Flaunts to the sky above. 

Where shadows come creeping, when sun gates 
swing low. 

With memories, boding apart ; 
Aweeping at eve, for the morn's fickle loves, 

Lx), yonder bloom love's bleeding hearts. 

Have 5'ou walked in the garden of souls, my friend ? 

Or paused by life's quick rushing stream ; 
Have you heard the sad tales, breathed by flowers of 
the vales. 

The memories of sweet summer dreams. 

Where each passionate rose, and each lily that 
grows ; 

Hath a soul with its thoughts jewel encrust, 
And each tells a tale, some a pitiful wail ; 

Some joyful, some breathing of lust. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



The fair rose doth smile, and seeketh to wile, 
The hours, by her memories entrancing, 

And each fragrant flower, though it blow" but an 
hour. 
In the pageant of souls, comes advancing. 

But yonder where shadows die, silently creeping, 
In death's gloom, pineth one flower apart ; 

And the gay blossoms glance, at the shadows 
askance, 
Where groweth life's bleeding hearts. 

THE SPIRIT TRYST 

The world is dark and lonely now, 

There is no solace here, 
Mother, died my bleeding heart, 

Upon thy flower decked bier. 

Nay, mother, thou should'st not have gone. 

Thy work here was not done. 
Each day we need thy loving care, 

Thy race was not yet run. 

Oh, that I could bring to thee, 

My tired and weary soul; 
Where in the haven of thy arms. 

My ship could find its goal. 

Yet oft I think in heaven's sphere. 

Beyond the veil of mist ; 
When evening shadows deeply fall. 

Thou keepest a spirit tryst. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



You come to cool my fevered brow, 

With soft and gentle hands 
And bring a scent of perfume, 

From far ofif spirit lands. 

And as the healing Gilead balm, 

There creeps into my heart ; 
A gladness and a sense of rest. 

We are not so far apart. 

For thou can'st break the spirit bonds. 

And I the earthly chain ; 
And mother wrapped within your arms, 

I am thy child again. 

HAIL! SPRING 

I heard a soft voice whisper sweet, 

Among the leafless trees ; 
While yet the snow was falling soft, 

And wintry was the breeze. 
I am a harbinger of love. 

And a happy message bring, 
Of the days to come, warm and bright. 

With the beauty of the spring. 

Again I heard the warble clear. 

Of the robins' first love notes; 
And out across the frozen wastes 

The liquid ditties float. 
It seems to chant of victory, 

For winter will not dwell, 
Long where the robins' cheery notes 

Ploat over hill and dell. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



And from the ground there seems to rise, 

In the morning's solemn still; 
A lilting serenade that sweeps 

From every crest and hill. 
To rise like incense rare and greet 

The dainty springtide queen, 
Speeding north, in train her court 

Of sunshine, rose and green. 

THE WANDERER 

In this vast and mighty land, 

Stretching far twixt sea and sea; 
'Mid the seething human masses. 

All alone I seem to be. 
Alone with the thoughts that throng my mind, 

Thoughts of another land, 
Where in my former life I lived. 

By its lovely Arcadian sands. 

The world and its populace melt far apace. 

The years drop away like a mist. 
And my mind a vision eagerly grasps 

Of a land that is ever sun kissed. 
Where love is the passion that sways the soul. 

And the voice of the nightingale calls, 
"Come revel tonight 'neath the silver moonbeams, 

That gild heaven's white castle walls." 

Oh, why was I loosed from my bondage of yore, 

In my lovely Arcadian home, 
To live here, a stranger to earth, and men, 

And bear all my sorrow alone. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



I wander lonely as a star, 

Lost in the clouds of fleece, 
And I long for the jo3's of my heavenly home, 

And sigh for its Gilead peace. 

Draw me up with your mist, oh shadows of eve, 

Drooping earthward at dusk of day, 
And while the earth slumbers, adreaming of con- 
quests. 

Bear me in silence away. 
Back to the islands of peace, and of rest, 

Back to the white gleaming sands ; 
There to return to my castle of dreams, 

In my lovely Arcadian land. 

A MOORISH DREAM 

Tarry with me by the river, 

While the silver moon doth shine ; 
Tarry here and list the music. 

Rising from the mighty Rhine. 

By the Rhine so sweet in story. 

And in quaint old, folkish lore, 
Let us drink in its rare beauty, 

We may meet here nevermore. 

Where the grand old Moorish castles, 
For a thousand years have frowned ; 

On the softly flowing river, 

With its rhythm of magic sound. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Where in aged and vine clad turrets, 

Sound the hoots of many owls ; 
Ah, the air breathes love and romance, 

Linger with me yet awhile. 

Think how yonder stone intrenchments. 

Long have echoes to the tread ; 
Of the victor, hush the passing 

Of the army of the dead. 

Swift and silent, pressing forward, 
They will vanish ere dawn's hour; 

Hear the drawbridge chains aclanking. 
See the knighthood in its flower. 

And within those silent turrets. 
Have been echoes, sighs and songs. 

Many a fair maid's heart was broken. 
Where the blue Rhine sweeps along. 

And where aged trees are quivering, 

There beneath the branches high. 
Many a knight, once gay and gallant ; 

In his narrow earth bed lies. 

Ah love, 'tis a country of romance, 

Where live the memories of days long gone; 
Let us linger while moonbeams silver gleam. 

And the blue Rhine sweeps alone. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



WHEN THE BELLS TOLL 

What message bringeth the glad New Year, 

On the wings of the midnight hour, 
As the thousand bells send forth their chimes, 

From the heart of the thousand towers. 

Ah faith, 'tis a song for the sons of men, 
For the weak who have failed in the strife, 

It is victory's chant, the voice of God, 
That throbs with the pulse of life. 

And it sings to the listening sons of men, 

Arise for the year is new; 
Another lease of life is given 

The world to dare and do. 

Brush away the cobwebs that tangle the paths, 

In the gardens of soul and brain ; 
Dig out the moulding, rotting roots 

And seed the plot again. 

Strangle the dragons of envy and sin. 

And faith men, learn to smile, 
And all the riddles of life and fate 

Will work out after while. 

Ah, this is the message the new year brings, 

At the stroke of the midnight hour, 
And it creeps through the fibers of each man's 

heart | 

Like the dew to the heart of the flower. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



MOTHER 

I saw the gates of death swing low, 
And the angel with his sickle keen ; 

Sever the threads of life that fell 

Quivering and broken in a silver sheen. 

He touched with his sword the flowing bowl, 
Where the wine of life ran brightly red ; 

The lovelight died in a mother's eye. 

And the sons of men said — "she is dead." 

But listen last eve at the hour of dusk; 

Deep in the shadows I heard a voice say; 
Mourn not, though the world may prate of death, 

We tell the tale another way. 

Like a flower that the chilling, winter wind, 
Ruthlessly blights and withers away; 

The life spark smoulders and lives until, 
It flames in beauty on a newer day. 

So back where the shadows of death veil decay, 
Far above heaven's great castle of blue ; 

Is a wonderful land, where the soul never dies; 
And the spirit of mother is waiting for you. 

THE DECEIVER 

Cupid, thou weaver of wonderful wiles, 
My sad tears have fallen like dew ; 

You pierced me deep with love's gold dart, 
When the game of love was new. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



You strolled with me the paths of youth, 
Together we laughed worlds to scorn ; 

When the flush of my cheek faded with time, 
You left me alone to mourn. 

When the summer sun burnished with copper my 
hair, 

And my eyes stole heaven's own blue ; 
You led me o'er pathways of roses rare. 

Each day was the world made new. 

One day you, came not to drink of my lips, 

And I saw you flit heartless away; 
In search of fresh blushes and redder lips, 

And hair not touched with gray. 

Next day I saw you come tripping along, 

With a maiden young and fair; 
Eyes that were dark with flashing lights, 

Red lips, and raven hair. 

Ah cupid, thy flattery is empty and cold, 

How fickle thy passionate kiss; 
How hollow thy tunes of joy and mirth, 

How shallow thy short hour of bliss. 

Far better, the true kiss of friendship, 

When the cheek pales, and gold hair is white ; 

Far better the promise of heavenly love, 
To guide us home in the night. 

When youth has vanished and love has died. 

Life's shadow, like the hair is gray; 
The youth fire dies, but a surer flame, 

Is kindled down friendship's way. 

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THE TRUANT 

Where has my heart gone flitting, 

I thought it belonged to you. 
Yet that precious jewel has escaped its bounds, 
Out in the world it is wandering around, 

In search of a love that is true. 

Why has my heart gone flitting? 

Ah, how can you ask me why. 
Last night when the autumn moon gleamed white, 
And silvered the gloom of the starless night, 

I felt that our love must die. 

For thus is my heart a truant. 

Our souls are not attuned as one; 
And the binding tie, that but death should part, 
Would quiver and fall from our restless hearts, 

Ere the noon day of life was done. 

So out into space my heart's flitting, 

In search of a passion divine; 
A long farewell, then turn and go, 
Knowing it is better so, 

While the sun of youth doth shine. 

TWILIGHT 

This is the hour when God and my soul 

Seem for an hour to blend as one, 
This is the hour when dead dreams live, 

And glow in beauty with the dying sun. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Twilight — when morn and evening meet ; 

That strange sad wistful time that dies 
Slowly, and softly, in an amber maze, 

'Till the touch of night doth close its eyes. 

On yonder hill the trees stand forth, 

As though they see off through the mist, 
The rose cheeked morn lift up her face, 

And wait the dawn god's sunny kiss. 
Twilight — when life meets death enroute 

Through the shaded vale, where love was born; 
And both look off, where in the east, 

Is a shadow figure, crowned with thorns. 

When eyes grow dim, and droop for sleep, 

When weary feet falter, and friendships decay; 
When fragrant with memories, and dreams of the 
past, 

The withering roses of love fade away. 
Twilight — that hour my soul shall live, 

And into your maze of shadows creep, 
And the billows will wash me toward your fair 
shores, 

Far in the twilight lands, there I shall sleep. ,'A 

TO HELEN 

Fair Helen, tonight I sit alone and dream. 

Before my fireplace, while the embers die ; 
And your sweet face as fairy mist doth rise, 

I see the dusky depths of your dear eyes. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Why did you send me from you broken-hearted, 
Why did that cruel laugh curl your ruby lips 

Fair one, I fain would die of love's own passion, 
Where I would drain the cup, you bid me sip. 

Is there another, dearer in your sight, 

Then why did'st smile so sweet awhile on me; 

Ah Helen, thou would 'st scorn me without thought, 
And I would cast my life away for thee. 

I know this woman's weakness is unseemly, 

But love alone, shall henceforth be my breath ; 

And thou like fate, shall draw the chip of life, 
Or scorn my love, and cast the dice of death. 

THE EVENING HOUR 

When the solemn silence of evening falls, 

And the western sky doth glow ; 
I seek the dim isle of memory, 

With its scenes of long ago. 

To woo the fairest memory sprites 

I enter the parlor dim, 
Where oft of yore my mother sang. 

The rich old Sabbath hymns. 

I see her again as twilight dies, 

Her hands on the ivory keys. 
Her sweet voice mingling with the moans 

Of the wind that wafts through the trees. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Nearer, oh, nearer my God to thee 

The melody swells and dies; 
Its echoes float, like jewelled notes, 

On to the shadowed skies. 

Lead kindly light, the soft strains fell, 

Soothing earth's sad unrest ; 
Then the joyous strains of the melody, 

Jerusalem, isle of the blest. 

The prayer of souls on the sea of life. 
Seeking refuge, where all might flee; 

Blend in the notes of the beautiful hymn 
Rock of ages, cleft for me. 

And mother, that last short night of life. 
Ere the gates of death swung low ; 

You sang to me in the twilight shades, 
It is well, it is well, with my soul. 

Ah, 'tis silent and lonesome tonight, mother dear, 
While the song birds chant of their love. 

And even the stars triumphant shine, 
In their wisdom of secrets above. 

Blow winds, far over the dark, mystic sea 
To the island the mortals call death ; 

And bring back the spirit of mother's love. 
Perfuming each heaven kissed breath. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



BECALMED 

The waters becalmed about us lay, 
The sun ne'er died at close of day ; 
Nothing but water, stretching wide, 
O'er which our doomed ship seemed to glide. 

Far on into the sunlit night, 
We rolled along in perilous flight, 
When a sailor raised a shaking hand, 
And pointed afar to a speck of land. 

I raised a cheer, sincere but weak. 
But some too overjoyed to speak; 
Pointed and babbled like toothless babes, 
O'er a harmless madman, who weakly raves. 

But suddenly as the shore drew near. 
There crept into our hearts a fear; 
Idle on the wheel lay the steerman's hand, 
By unknown force, was our vessel manned. 

And lo, on the shore not far apace, 
Were humans of an unknown race ; 
But were they humans, whose flashing eyes. 
Seemed holding the lights of Paradise? 

We crouched upon the sands in awe. 

Like kittens 'neath the tiger's maw; 

And the leader, his jewel eyes flashing flame; 

Stepped forward and called us each by name. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Ah sailors, I bid thee welcome be, 

Who comest across the stormy lea; 

Here where perfume mingles with every breath ; 

You have found the fabled isles of death. 

Thou each shall sink in reverie deep, 
Called by some death's dreamless sleep ; 
And awake to find the mortal flown. 
And thy spirits will dwell in this sylvan home. 

With a shriek I strove to run and reach 
Our lifeboat lying on the beach ; 
But an unseen hand held me down, 
And I weakly fell upon the ground. 

Around my companions senseless lay, 
Waiting to wake on a newer day ; 
I write this tale with a trembling hand, 
And cast it far from this strange land. 

Ah, what is this that grips my throat, 
That strangles me, and makes me choke; 
And above me bend the deep, dark eyes, 
Gleaming with lights from the brilliant skies. 

Sleep, the voice rings clear and low, 
Sleep, while heaven's arch winds blow. 
Sleep, and your sleep shall know no waking, 
Till the dawn of death in the east is breaking. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



I WAIT 

Ah come kiss me love again, 

Bind anew my faith in men ; 

Clasp me to your heart once more, 

As you did in days of yore. 

I am faint with passion dear 

Would that you, my love, were near. 

Kiss me on my dusky hair. 
Kiss me on my forehead fair; 
Flashing eyes, and ruby lips, 
Kiss me, while my life you sip. 
Why must joy be but a dream. 
That flashes on life's filmy screen. 

She who wooed you from my arms, 
She who meshed you in her charms; 
She who tore our hearts asunder, 
As a pirate steals his plunder; 
Will you tire of her some day. 
And like a phantom flit away. 

And when fickle fanc}^ leaves you. 

Then the memories shall grieve you ; 

Every night my eyes shall seem 

To pierce you through the dusk of dreams. 

Then you will return my dear, 

To find a true love waiting here. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



MOUNTAIN SUNSET 

All day we toiled, and when the rosy glow 
Mellowed the earth, just as the sun sunk low; 
We stood upon the peak, all snow capped white, 
And watched the stately pageant of the night. 
As from the earth it moved in slow array. 
Nor paused to murmur prayers for the dead day. 

The fiery sunset colors on the snow, 
Made the peak like one great diamond glow ; 
A wondering peaceful quiet on us fell ; 
As we gazed into eternity's deep well. 
It was the peace of passing souls, when death is near, 
And the silence breathes — "Fear not, Lo, I am 
here." 

Deep shadows fell, and in the east afar, 

Pale, gleaming through the dusk, the evening star, 

That rose o'er Bethlehem that Christmas night, 

On Christ, the manger child, to shed its light. 

The still night air then breathed a dreaming croon, 

In welcome to the silver harvest moon. 

The moon that rose slow o'er the fringing pines, 
As it hath risen in all days and climes, 
Looked down upon a world, old, old in sin. 
That scorned a Paradise which might have been. 
It sadly thought of Arcady and sighed, 
And all the winds of heaven sobbed reply. 



1 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



MAKE ME A CHILD AGAIN 

When the cloistered schoolhouse cross the road, 

Opens its doors at noon of da)% 
And the happy tots troop forth in glee, 

It takes me back on memory's way. 
And I sigh for childhood's days in June, 

When hearts are young, and dreams are bright; 
When the goblins grim, and the fairy forms 

Revel around in the shades of night. 

When the wildwood whispers its secrets deep. 

And the hidden purple violets shy; 
Peep from their green and mossy nooks. 

At the little children trooping by. 
And on the wings of the weird night wind, 

Erom the mystic land of the nevermore; 
Come spectres pale, and ghost like sprites. 

And always the fairies of childish lore. 

Oh, the dreams and the wonderful glamour of life, 
Have gone down the years, with youth's music 
and song; 
And my heart hath grown weary of flesh pots and 
wealth, 
Life's road seems thorny, and rugged and long. 
Oh, time could you pause for a day ere you pass, 
Could I snatch like a jewel, from the grim hands 
of fate. 
Just a few happy hours of sweet childhood again, 
Of whole hearted happiness, ere 'tis too late. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Where deep in the mist and the vapor of dreams, 

That droop like a veil, over childhood's fair isles. 
There deep I would revel vrith goblins and ghouls, 

And whirl with the dancing eyed fairies awhile. 
And forget, forget that life's span is fast fleeting. 

Forget that life's manhood comes crowned with 
cruel thorns, 
But ere I slip over across the dark waters, 

Live for an hour again, childhood's young morn. 

AFRICA 

Africa, thou mystic land of dreams, 

Who wrapped in father time's embrace. 
And knowing neither time nor place, 
Doth lift thy placid, beaming face. 

To watch the silver moon of Safir gleam. 

Thou silent sourceress of a million years. 
Thou hast watclied thy freedom to decay, 
And saw thy warriors borne away, 
And white men settle day by day, 

But your dusky mobile face expressed no fears. 

For aeons watched the great Nile sweep along, 
With human blood thou hast seen it red. 
And watched it flow over its river bed. 
And cruelly destroy the toilers' bread, 

Still you musically droned your low, mysterious 
song. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Africa, thou dreamer of worlds to be, 

Keep me not waiting 'neath bright burning skies, 
Or wondering 'neath the stars when the sunset 

dies ; 
But tell me your secrets, bend on me your eyes, 

Give me your dreams Africa, I too would see. 

THE ETERNAL QUESTION 

I love you dear, ah yes, but do I love you well 
enough, 
That love shall be life's shining star through all 
the coming years; 
When the shadows deepen and dusk doth fall, and 
night draws on apace. 
Shall love smooth all life's cares away, and make 
us smile through sorrow's tears. 
I know not, for I cannot part the heavy veil to see, 
We must just trust in God and good and love, 
thou and me. 

I love you yes, but say my dear, when silver grows 
our hair, 
When the flushed cheek pales, and the eyes grow 
dim, and we walk mid winter's snow ; 
Can we stroll through life together, with souls 
attuned to love's sweet chords. 
Out to the world's end, down through death's 
valley, in the last eves' sunset glow; 
I cannot say, but let us trust, and our heart's throb 
on as one. 
And together I know we shall find God's peace, 
when our work on earth is done. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE TIDES 

Tell me not, that when life's last tide eddies, 

And in the sunset's glow doth stretch death's 
shore, 

Say not that earth shall claim all that is mortal 
And soul, life's godly essence be no more. 

Dost think there is one atom's waste in nature, 

Dost think the potter, thumbing his wet clay, 
Fashioning in realty, dreams and visions 

Would sweep in fickle mood, his art away. 

Much less would God, the great divine Creator, 
Who from love and faith did fashion man one 
morn; 

Think thou he peopled all the dells and mountains, 
Only at death, to laugh his work to scorn 

Dost think that perfect love and chastity. 

Could cast into the fabled fiery pit; 
One of the wandering sheep lost on the hillside, 

And the shepherd never give a thought to it. 

Think not that when the race of life is over, 

And w^e turn to view our gathered golden sheaves. 

That he, the gentle, tender man of sorrows 

Would count as naught, our life work and our 

dreams. m 

Shall humans say, the soul dies with the body, 
When for our sins Christ bore the cross of pain ; 

Did he descend to death for a shallow promise, 
Or stage a farce when he rose and lived again. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



The immortal soul \\wts, on and on forever, 
Like the tiny snail, it leaves its cells of sin; 

And struggling upward, reaches rest and heaven, 
Singing, "A saint is knocking, let him in." 

THE RESURRECTION 

A gleam of sunshine fell athwart my room, 
Its golden rays entrancing all the gloom. 
And in the trees still shivering bare, 
Their gaunt limbs swayed in the frosty air, 
The first spring robin throats his lay, 
A harbinger of sweet new days. 
It breathed the joys of glorious worlds to be, 
When the bluebirds nest and mate in budding trees. 

One day I found deep in a frozen nook, 

A purple violet nodding by the brook. 
The brook, whose waters murmured soft 
With a sound of mystic, magic rhythm. 
Of the joys of moonlit summer nights. 
And frolics gay of the wild wood nymphs. 

The robins' trill swept through the woods so deep, 

Where nature's children stirred in dreaming sleep. 

How strange the sleeping buds and clods of earth. 
Before us mortals know of springtide's birth. 

While winter still with reigning hand, 

Surrounds us with her biting chill ; 

The sleeping life deep in the forest, 

Dreaming, feels the sweet spring thrill. 
The blossoms stir and wake with spring's sweet 

wonder. 
And rise, like Christ, to burst their tombs asunder. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



A MESSAGE 

When all the earth in chaos whirls, 

And kingdoms shall crumble to dust ; 
The seasons change not, and the sun stands still; 

And devours the world with her lust. 
When mountains and valleys shall be as one, 

And great waters sweep them o'er; 
When all the creatures of life shall sleep. 

On the journey to the evermore. 

When all the planets of life and law, 

Hang silent and dead in space; 
When the twinkling stars shall shed at noon, 

Their rays on earth's mangled waste. 
In that hour before eternity, 

Ere the gates of death swing low, 
No light, no life, no sight nor sound, 

All's silence here below. 

Then like a light that shineth bright, 

The heavens asunder shall rend ; 
And lo, to a sinful dying race. 

Shall appear the saviour of men. 
Clad in his glory everlasting. 

White purity without stain ; 
And the heavens shall trumpet his message of peace, 

*'When all else shall vanish, my love shall re- 
main." 



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A Weaver of Drea?ns 



THE PRAYER 

Let me dream of the beauties of nature, 
Bow in homage unto the blue sky; 

But close not my eyes to the misery, 

Of the slums where the wee children die. 

Let me delve into long buried classics, 
The scrolls and the mysteries of yore ; 

But not to forget the sick mother, 
And the suffering her fleshless face bore. 

In elysian fields let me wander, 

While before me the isles of spice spread ; 
While down in the heart of the city, 

The starving are crying for bread. 

Ah, dwell in a wonderful dreamland, 
Where the joys of life need not be sought. 

But forget not the carpenter humble. 
The Christ, and the message he brought. 

A marble slab, modeled in beauty, 

Marks the grave of the wealthy and great; 

But the violets bloom in the springtime 
On the mounds by the lowly wood gate. 

STORM TOSSED 

Oh love, I have grown so weary and worn. 

For the pathway of life seems thorny and long; 

The seasons have lost their glowing beauty, 
And the years have ceased their lilting song. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Of love and pulsating happiness, 

That thrilled our pulse in life's young morn, 
And the boat of years drifts swift and steady, 

Toward death's silent, welcome bourne. 

Welcome, yes sorrow and sin hath drowned 

My love within life's shallow cup, 
And time hath lifted bitter wine, 

Unto my thirsting lips to sup. 
I had a fair, immortal dream, 

I thought to raise earth's standard high ; 
But 1 was crushed a broken reed, 

And washed upon life's shore, to die. 

I found how little mortals cared, 

How moved the world outside their sphere; 
Who stain their hands with human blood, 

That mingles with the toiler's tears. 
I dreamed, but dow^n upon my bauble, 

A world breathed fiery fumes of scorn ; 
So I am waiting for the boatman, 

To bear me to the silent bourne. 

Oh world, bowed down with sorrows' weight, 

I warned you, but you would not heed ; 
Compensation's law will wreck you. 

And cast you. out, a broken reed. 
While past the dark that veils my visions. 

Borne upward where love's star doth gleam, 
To airy worlds, and life immortal, 

I go to build my wondrous dream. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE MASTER POWER 

The rose of love hath bloomed anew, 
And green grow the withered leaves ; 

The harvest of life is ready to yield 
Her abundant golden sheaves. 

The world takes on a newer lease, 

Of beauty, and love and light; 
And the silver moon, more brightly gleams, 

On the balmy summer night. 

And all the old thrills stir the blood, 
And dreams we thought long dead, 

Arise and wake to a larger life, 
When the sun of love glows red. 

Love on, love on, nor cease to love, 

It is life's sweetest dower, 
The secret soul of God's great might, 

It is the master power. 

HAUNTING MEMORIES 

Dreams, those idle dreams I once thought dead, 
How oft they rise at night, like spectres pale, 

Gaunt, haunting memories of the buried past, 
That reach in grewsome joy, cross twilight's vale. 

Yet oft they call me cross sleep's misty copse. 
Those dreams, relentless as the pounding sea ; 

Visions of joys in life I might have had. 

Had I been true to God, to love, and thee. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE SILENT LANDS 

When I grow tired of the pleasures of life, 
And the joys of the heart pall, oft I sigh, 

For the day 1 shall pass to the sleeping side, 
To the silent lands, past yonder sky. 

When the roar and din of the dusty town. 
And humanity's moans seem hard to bear ; 

I close my eyes and there stretches wide, 
Before my vision, a land most fair. 

A land where the peace of Heaven doth rule, 
And the sun rises gold with the new born day, 

When the shadows like sunset mists come down. 
And hide all life's cares and sorrows away. 

Where angel hands touch all the candles of night. 
And the moon sails in majesty, trailing her beams; 

Down through the deep of the night, to where 
The rainbow's golden treasures gleam. 

There is silence unbroken, the peace of the dead, 
Too far to hear even the moan of death's sea. 

And on through the cycles and ages to come; 
We catch a faint glimpse of the heaven to be. 

Are you weary oh soul, of life's fading joys. 
Has the glitter of gold ceased to gladden your 
heart ; 

Has the world stretched on in a dull, dreary blank, 
Since the dawn love died and broke your heart. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Look afar faint heart, past the shadows of death, 
Look afar with those weary eyes, brimming with 
tears ; 
And beyond the dream fields where the red poppies 
blow. 
Is the great silent land, the last of the years. 

DRIFTING SAILS 

A white sailed ship set out to sea, 

And the wind bore it fast away, 
O'er the swift waters, to the world's end, 

Where the land of silence lay. 

The west was ablaze with the sunset glow, 

Pink, amber, azure and gold ; 
And the night was darkening the east, 

And the evening star gleamed cold. 

And straight for the heart of the fiery splendor, 

Darted the aerial barge of white; 
As though it must reach the dying sun. 

Ere the victory of the night. 

It drifted into the golden haze. 

That stretched like a gleaming shore. 

And dropped from earth, with the sinking sun, 
To the land of the nevermore. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE LAST DAY 

I turned the sheets in the book of life, 

In the silver shadows of earth's last day ; 
When for me the sun would set no more, 

And death would come in the old, old way. 
As I turned back the pages yellowed with age, 

With here and there smudges and dark blots of 
sin ; 
My tears fell like dew, as I pondered upon 

Life's larger joys, that might have been. 

Back, back I turned to the days of youth. 

With its blossoms gay and its rippling streams; 
With its silver nights and dewy morns, 

Its wild young sorrows and noonday dreams. 
And always the paths I followed were lead, 

By a great gleaming star in the heavens above, 
A fancy, a willow-o' the wisp some say, 

'Twas the star of my life, the star of love, 

I turn the next page, and the odor rare, 

Of the budding tuberose faintly blows. 
And I have a vision of the garden of death, 

Where a tiny, sweet white lily grows. 
She only lingered to wind our hearts 

Like cord about her baby hands. 
When she heard a soft call from across the dark sea, 

And angels bore her to other lands. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Again I turn over the time yellowed page, 

And I hear like a whisper the winds past me sigh ; 
The sad winds, the soft winds, that waft o'er the 
fields, 

Where the brave soldier boys shed their life Blood 
and died. 
I hear the shrill fife, and the clamour of drums, 

When the regiment left, and wnth it my son; 
The flag still waves o'er the land of the free, 

But my boy lay dead, when the day was done. 

On, on through the book of my life years I turn, 

Through the seasons of hope, and the seasons of 
fear ; 
J wander the dim aisles of death, when love. 

Seemed a withered rose, all bathed in tears. 
But each trouble has left my heart more tender, 

For after the night comes the morning dew ; 
And though the storms raged, and the waves dashed 
high ; 

I knew 'neath the dark clouds, the sky was blue. 

And now in the evening the shadows have deepened, 

But faint on the edge is the tint of gold ; 
And I hear the deep waters lapping the life shore, 

And know that the ways of the death king are old. 
And I turn the last page in the book of my life, 

As the first flush of dawn, in the west sky doth 
glow ; 
And I walk down the valley of the shadow of death 

While the last night star in the west burns low. 



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SORROW 

Since I have loved you dear, have I not known, 

An arcady I could not find alone, 

When strolling down life's pathway, just we two, 

The tears of sorrow melt to silver dew. 

That like the Gods own nectar filled the cup. 

That we, two loving, thirsty souls might sup. 

And now you tell me that 'tis best we part, 
That you were never free to give your heart; 
Ah, is it that I ne'er shall dream again, 
Or glimpse the wondrous palaces of Spain? 
I reared an altar where our love might live, 
Are cold dead ashes all you have to give? 

The days pass on, I bear my heavy cross, 
But my heart cries out in pain, oh, bitter loss ; 
And down life's path, where once the roses bloomed, 
A lane of withered leaves leads to the tomb. 
There at the world's end, I shall dream and rest, 
With silent lips, where once your kiss was pressed. 

ON ARDATH'S FIELD 

Far in the west the sun had sunk awhile, 
Leaving her glory trail in yonder sky ; 

When lengthening shadows softly fall. 

And long the sea waves cease to kiss, 

I picture there on Ardath's field. 

The ancient city of Alkyris. 
A jewel it gleams upon the barren field. 
And stretches west to where the colors die. 

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Gorgeous in riots of regal pageantry, 
Shimmering 'neath a million starry lights, 

Music sounds about my ears, 

And down the winding river deep. 

Barges decked with gold, and bearing 

Fairest women, softly creep. 
And the tunes of lutes and harps doth mingle clear, 
With the song of the nightingale wooing the night. 

Wealth was there, and poetry flowed like wine. 
And lives were sacrificed for your gross lust, 
Your queen, so beautiful, but rash, 
Who knew no power of human love, 
Hath long lain in her cold stone vault, 
But her weary, vengeful soul still roves. 
Oh beauteous city of fabled wealth and sin, 
At last you fell and crumbled into dust. 

LOST— A DAY 

I know that somewhere on the mystic road, 
Betwixt the dewy uplands of the dawn; 

And the sombre glory of the lurid sunset, 
A precious day is vanished, and is gone. 

Vanished, and one day closed draws the twilight, 

When time shall fade into eternity ; 
One day closer draws the last great journey, 

Across the foaming billows of death's sea. 

Let us, each morn when sun doth kiss the earth, 
Vow that ere the twilight close the day; 

To leave deeds that will live in love and beauty, 
And lighten weary hearts, when clouds are gray. 



// Weaver of Dreams 



Into the Avorld, like Howers and empty handed, 
Like flowers we blossom, fading on life's way ; 

Let us in youth, then scatter deeds of kindness, 
That shall make bright our life's declining days. 

SING HEY 

Sing hey, the wild winds whistle, 

And the silver frost laj^s low. 
The leaves the Indian summer, 

Hath tinted with golden glow. 

And through the rustling carpet. 

The pack wolf lopes along, 
And calls his mate in the distance. 

To list the wind's weird song. 

The heart seems just athrobbing. 
The hot blood leaps in thrills. 

Life is free from every care, 

When we hear the song of the hills. 

THE JOURNEY OF LOVE 

She closed her eyes in the last, long sleep, 
And found the peace life could not give, 

She left the earth, so dull with c-ire, 

For the land of joy, where the spirit lives. 

And the days that followed, were dull with pain. 

The sun ne'er shone on such another. 
They have taken what never can be replaced. 

On the face of the whole wide world "A 
Mother." 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



She paused on the threshold of life and death, 
Ere the gates to the valley of death swung low, 

And murmured, "His will, not mine be done, 
A voice bids come, and I must go." 

Ah, can we forget when passion shines. 

Bold in the flashing eyes of a lover, 
The deathless flame of love that burned. 

On and on in the starlit eyes of mother. 

The tired eyes closed with a sad unrest. 
As the silent evening of life drew near ; 

And a cold hand hushed, with a deathly touch, 
The kindly voice of a mother dear. 

And the lonesome years roll on and on, 

But I live alone in a world apart; 
For the dead in her journey across the divide. 

Carried away my aching heart. 

And I sit at night by my fire and dream. 

The sun ne'er rose on such another ; 
And the flame on the altar of love burns bright. 

Fanned by the spirit hands of ''Mother." 

AS A TREE FALLETH 

There is enchantment when the shadows whisper, 
A love song to the modest, misty stars. 

There is a rapture when the sun at even, 
Showers with gold the sea, for miles afar. 



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There is a weirdness, when the cool trees rustle, 
And whisper secrets dark with mystery ; 

I strive to speak in nature's woodland language, 
And hear the message of the rolling sea. 

There is a wonder of the mighty spaces, 

As night comes creeping o'er the mountains high ; 

I see the gleam of other whirling planets, 
In that great heavenly orbit, we call sky. 

I love the deep night for its peace and beauty, 
Its soft lipped whispers of the ages dead, 

And when I tire of life, and sink to slumber, 
I want these trees to rustle o'er my bed. 

For I must pass, even as the forest fadeth, 
But I shall live another life elsewhere. 

When my free spirit wings its flight through spaces. 
To the eternal mansion of my prayers. 

THE GRACES 

Faith bent on me a pensive gaze. 
And with a winning, winsome smile ; 

She glided off into the dusk. 
Of the sobre, silent afterwhile. 

Hope stayed with me, while sorrow sat, 

Aside of me, at my hearthstone, 
'Till one morn, darker than the rest, 

She fled and left me all alone. 



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Still more I leaned on charity, 

And weaved a halo round her head ; 

'Till one morn darker than the rest, 
I found my fairest grace was dead. 

Where place the jewel of trust, I cried, 

Christ answered — "Leave that gem with me, 

Your jewel is safe, for lo, am I, 

Not faith — and hope — and charity." 

COME HOME 

Come home, I have swept for you a road, 
O'er the green clad hills, to the silent lands. 

For I love you still. 

With the old, old thrill. 
Fear not, we shall meet at the world's end. 
Where the moonlight silvers the gleaming sand. 

The sands stretch down to the moaning sea, 
Whose shores are the poppy fields of death ; 

Come, the sun sinks low. 

And the tides soon will flow, 
Yes, I know the valley of shadows is long, 
But beyond is the light from the heavenly heath. 

TREASURES OF LIFE 

Though the hours have been dreary, and long the 
day. 

This life and its shadows will pass away, 

And when the span endeth, how childish our sor- 
rows, 

Will seem in the dawn of the great tomorrow. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



When a wonderful peace stops the flow of sad tears, 
And gone are the longings and heartbreak that sears, 
When bitter thoughts vanish like night ere the dawn, 
And the trumpets of Heaven are leading us on. 

The great west is gold, when the red sun sinks low, 
And we bow at the shrine of the dawn's rosy glow; 
And the rainbows of heaven stretch out o'er the sky, 
A beacon of light to the wanderer's eye. 

As down through death's valley when evening shades 

glow, 
We pace 'mid groves where the olives trees blow; 
We wander in darkness but know the morrow, 
Brings peace to our soul, and a solace for sorrow. 

Though morn may bring with it cares and fears, 
And the dying sun blazen on heartaches and tears; 
We know that some day we shall follow like sheep, 
Through death's twilight valley to rest and to sleep. 

THE WORLD'S END 

When the planets hang silent and dead in space, 
And the great sun hides his burning face; 

When all forces cease, 

To move in peace, 
Across the sky in flaming red, 
Will flash the words "God's love is dead." 



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When day never dawns, for night never breaks, 
When the wheel of life stops, for man's soul never 
wakes ; 

When seasons change not, 

And terror is wrought. 
Nothing but emptiness — stretches of sky, 
That one last hour, if love should die. 

When seas roll over and perish the land, 

And humanity sleeps under death's heavy hand. 

Not one human sigh. 

Not a wail, or cry; 
Will reach the impotent throne o'er head, 
The day immortal love lies dead. 

When the hearts of men cease to wonder or care, 
What a burden of sorrow and sin the world bears, 

When money is life, 

And evil is rife, 
Then the world must bow its head, 
For love, the hope of man is dead. 

THE SORROWS OF EARTH 

Oh world, with sorrow bowed down, 

With pains clanking chains at your feet, 

Gazing out into space with tired eyes. 
Where dusk and eternity meet. 

Oh earth, a million cruel years. 

Have furrowed your forehead once snow, 

Heart broken, your happiness wrecked, 
For a pageant of glitter and show. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Oh time, your tired voice doth falter, 
On the deep droning hum of the years, 

Your eyes once bright and hopeful, 
Dimmed with sin's hot tears. 

Oh years that are stained with the life blood, 

Of martyrs in numbers untold, 
Living and fighting and dying, 

For your lust, oh hollow world. 

Should time in her passing grow weary, 
And sleep at the world's faltering feet. 

What a calmness and rest would enfold us. 
When dusk and eternity meet. 

We should rest through ages of silence, 
Till the tired world should live anew, 

Another earth spring from dead ashes, 
A garden of beauty and dew. 

THE MUSE OF THE SCORNED 

How little they know of the heart that beats 

And throbs, in my silent breast ; 
How little they reck how my eyes pierce past, 

The gold, when the sun sinks to rest. 
And the trysts that I keep with my groping thoughts. 

Far into the dew kissed morn ; 
When the riot of colors in yonder east, 

Proclaims a new day is born. 

The stars weep for me on the milky way, 
And silver for me gleams the moon ; 

I live for sunset and twilight hour 
And the blazing beauty of noon. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



The birds sing to me in the tree tops tall, 

The beauties of worlds yet to be ; 
And I hear the tales of the mighty deep, 

From the shells that are kissed by the sea. 

The flowers in the garden entrance my soul, 

With their memories of dreams gone by, 
Memories of loves that so brightly did gleam, 

They would faint in their own light and die. 
And the grass that springs beneath my feet, 

Grown weary from life's thorny road ; 
Lifted each blade to the golden west. 

Where the sunset burned and glowed. 

And they call me a dreamer, an idle one. 

As they join in the chase for gold ; 
But one day the sun will die in the west. 

And the star of death gleam cold. 
The threads of life will quiver and break, 

And a shadow will veil the day ; 
The wine of life turn sour to the taste. 

Death comes in the age old way. 

For those who have struggled and labored and died. 

For a gleaming, golden horde; 
The valley of shadows will be long and dark; 

They will faint and fall by the road. 
But happy are those who can pierce the dark shades, 

When they hear life's tolling bells, 
And a voice whisper clear, through the darkness of 
death, 

"Fear not — I am here — all is well." 



iSi 



A Weaver of Dreams 



THE DEPARTED 

We love them, yes, we love them well, 
But when they hear death's plaintive call; 

Like the luring, perfumed breath of the spring. 
Clamouring over the garden wall. 

They shall leave us in the morning, 

At the noon and in the eve; 
When robins nest in the budding trees; 

And 'mid the autumn's golden sheaves. 

And as they pass like the flowers of spring, 

We too some day, shall hear the call ; 
Like the luring notes of the pipes of Pan, 

That echo across the garden wall. 

We shall sink to sleep with the western sun. 
For both shall answer the Master's call; 

Like the fragrant breath of the honeysuckle. 
Clamouring over the garden wall. 

Deep shall our sleep be — and faith we shall need it, 
In the silence and peace of our narrow sod grave, 

For no ruse sound shall awaken us there, 

Where only death's garden of white lilies wave. 

And all earth's cares shall drop with our shroud, 
When we arise to answer the master's call, 

That comes like the fragrant scent of the rose, 
Clamouring over the garden wall. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



HOLY ORDERS 

You came from the land of the souls of men, 

With the greatest gift of God, 
Knowledge to light the darkened paths, 

That the sordid mass have trod. 

A mind all stored with golden thoughts, 

A will to dare and do. 
God searched among his waiting souls, 

And choosing, honored you. 

He consecrated you to work, 

Uplift humanity, 
That the deaf might come to hear the truth, 

The blind come to see. 

That is that heart and soul might wake. 

To know the depth of life, 
And by the force within their souls, 

Conquer earthly strife. 

How have you kept those spirit vows, 

That you had stored within, 
Have you raised a better standard for 

This world of vice and sin. 

Have you given to the mighty masses, 
Knowledge for minds unlearned ; 

Have you opened to them the gates of thought, 
And made their tired souls burn. 



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J Weaver of Dreams 



Ah no, you failed to keep your oath, 

You drift along the tide. 
With pleasure as your ruling force, 

Destruction by your side. 

Now when you pass again from life, 

And return unto the sod ; 
What will you say to right yourself, 

How will you face your God ? 

AT REST 

At the foot of a green and sloping hill, 

In a sleepy little town; 
That catches the sunset's dying rays, 

As the silver night comes down. 
A narrow slab of marble white. 

But one of many others; 
Sears my heart, for it bears upon 

Its face, one sweet word "Mother." 

There she lies in her lowly couch, 

And the seasons blossom and die; 
The winter snows each year descend ; 

And the snow birds circle and cry. 
Each spring blooms in beauty and sunshine; 

Her colors touch valley and hill, 
But we sigh for the touch of a vanished hand, 

And a voice that forever is still. 

Here she is sleeping and dreaming and waiting, 
While swift the weary years glide, 

Lying here waiting and dreaming and sleeping, 
Till her loved ones are laid by her side. 

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I 



A Weaver of Dreams 



The summer sun beats on the little grass plot, 

The rain warms the buds into life; 
That flourish and bloom on the ashes and dust, 

Of her who was mother and wife. 

Dream on, thou fair dead, time moves apace, 

The sand in life's hour glass is low, 
The veil twixt heaven and earth grows dim. 

Far off the death winds blow. 
Sleep on, no waking thy dreams shall know. 

In the sanctity of earth's warm sod ; 
'Till roused by the tramp of thy loved one's feet. 

On the paths the saints have trod. 

GATEWAY OF THE YEARS 

Where is that happiness ye prated of. 

That joy that all our lives ye said would fill ; 

Where is that hidden land of Arcady, 

Where love would breathe to trouble, "peace be 
still." 

Ye made me scent the perfumes aromatic. 
That wafted from the far off lands of spice, 

Ye made me see the gory flaming sunsets. 
The starlit beauty of the southern nights. 

These visions fair were mine, until one day. 
Ye hid from me the glory of love's sun. 

Life's candle light then flickered low and died ; 
And darkness came, for my bright day was done. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Life's roses fresh and damp with morning dew, 
Uncurled their petals 'neath the searing breath 

Of thy false love, and one by one they fell, 
Withered and faded, on the lanes in death. 

And there is nothing left but life's long road, 
Stretching an arid waste on to the tomb ; 

But I dream that when I cross the last divide, 
Perhaps for me, life's passion flowers will bloom. 

But lo, 'tis sunrise, and the day has come, 

The night is passed, the time for love and tears; 

I must arise, and journey down the path, 

That leads me toward the gateway of the years. 

NIGHT THOUGHTS 

Where, where to turn when the heart is sore, 

And the world is full of care ; 
It seemeth to me, my earnest prayers 

Are lost in the throbbing air. 
Or if they reach the vaulted skies 

They fall on silent ears. 

It seemeth to me my efforts are spent, 

Through long and tedious years, 
And the sunset of the harvest brings, 

A sheaf of woe and tears. 
I lift my hands to the endless sky, 

And breathe out my soul desires ; 
Yet it rolls along and answers not, 

From dawn till sunset fires. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



I gaze on the forms of those I love 

So deep in the great death sleep ; 
And wonder why jewels we prize so well, 

Are seldom left in our keep. 
Was it ever we mourned of those we love, 

Even back when the earthy spawn; 
Developed through ages and cycles of time 

Till the light of a human dawn. 

But night speeds on, the workaday comes. 
With its burdens of weal and woe; 

And with it pass my dark grim thoughts 
And the mysteries no one knows. 

We never can know, but trust is there. 
So hoping, we lift our hearts in prayer. 

DEATH 

Death, and a million winged shapes 

Fluttering about me in the room, 
Death, and the valley of shadows stretching 

Misty into the distant gloom. 
Oft have I wondered when in health, 

What this final hour would be. 
When on life's field we take our stand. 

And hear the rushing of death's sea. 

And now 'tis come, that fateful hour. 

My eyes are veiling fast with death ; 
Vision fails, sound dies afar, 

I struggle and fight for each shortening breath. 
But my mind is clear and above all fear. 

Though my mortal body is wrenched with pain, 
I must shout to the great wide doubting world, 

We pass from earth, but to live again. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Death is again the throes of birth, 

Though my body lies cold, dead clay; 
When dissolution came, a mighty force, 

Tore from my shell, the soul away. 
I passed on to another cycle, 

Where I must struggle through the gloom, 
Life after life 'till spirit triumphs. 

And I shall reach my final home. 

The wonders of God's mighty universe, 

Worlds upon worlds sweep through the sky ; 
Yet when freedom comes to an earth bound soul, 

The mortals weep — "we die, we die." 
There is no end, there is no death, 

For all in nature lives; 
The great creative power that rules, 

Destroys naught that in love he gives. 

AT GETTYSBURG 

Comrades, the days are speeding fast, 

In a few more years at best, 
All the boys in blue and the boys in gray, 

Will go to their final rest 
Before another year has flown, 

The last roll call will sound ; 
And some who answer "Here" today. 

Will sleep beneath the ground. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Asleep with their comrades of battle, 

Whose fluttering life ceased long ago; 
And the nameless dead, who covered the fields, 

When the weary sun sank low. 
Ah, who but the boys in blue and gray. 

Can go with me, back through the years; 
And walk with me, 'mid the dying and dead, 

When the Union dripped blood and tears. 

Brother against brother, and father fought, 

As they never shall fight again, 
For far in the misty distance they heard, 

The clank of the slaver's chain. 
And each night the red sun died in blood, 

Fortelling a nation's doom, 
Like a ray of light, o'er the mangled dead. 

Gleamed the silver rays of the moon. 

There are hours of joy, of sadness and tears, 

As through memor}''s aisles we roam ; 
We see wife and mother waiting alas 

For the loved ones who never came home. 
The sweetheart who kissed his sword that night, 

When he marched so bravely away ; 
Her cheek grew pale, and her step grew slo\^, 

As she waited unending days. 

Comrades, ah comrades, I hear again. 
In the distance, the sweet bugle call. 

The onward rush, and the wild free yell 
That cheers, when the night dew falls. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Why this very field of Gettysburg, 
Was baptized with death's damp dew, 

When we fought 'till darkness covered earth, 
And battled the cause anew. 

Yes comrades, our life is almost closed, 

But we fought for the glorious flag; 
And carried her through with honor unwarped 

Though shot and shell left but a rag. 
God's hand smote the slave chains, there dawned in 
the south 

For the dark man a newer day; 
In forgiveness and love, let us scatter our blooms, 

O'er the graves of the blue and the gray. 

WITHERED ROSES 

Slowly drift the unending years, 

The seasons are dull with care, 
And withered to ashes the roses of love, 

That once bloomed fragrant and fair. 
For back on the road to yesterday. 

The mournful night birds cried ; 
And the weeping willows kissed the ground, 

Where love lay down and died. 

And I wander the path to tomorrow's hours. 

And I care not whither it goes ; 
For back of me, lingering on the breeze. 

Is the scent of the old musk rose. 
The sun still sinks in fiery glory, 

Painting the west sky gold ; 
But to me the colors are drab and dry, 

To me the world is old. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



For me no longer the moon gleams white, 

Or silvers the wind tossed spray ; 
The shadows no longer like fairies allure 

Back where the deep woods lay. 
The candles of heaven no longer are lit, 

To lead me at last safely home; 
The pain at my bleeding heart numbs my sight, 

And I wander in darkness alone. 

Ah love, I am weary, so weary of life, 

For crushed is my idol of dreams, 
My heart froze, I scorn the sunshine of life, 

And nothing is just what it seems. 
My soul is closed to life's beauty and dreams, 

And thorny the paths I have led. 
Since I turned on the path to yesterday, 

And saw love lying dead. 

CUPID 

He comes with full beauty of springtime bloom, 
Or steals on the silver}^ rays of the moon ; 
We watch him approach in the golden sunlight, 
But as often he steals like a thief in the night. 
A wee god, who sits a throne all else above, 
The child of the muses, the poets named "Love." 

Pie stamps a small foot on rare castles and crowns, 
And scatters his golden darts over the ground ; 
He touches like sunlight the homes of the poor, 
And leaves the same dower ere he passes the door. 
He has but one mighty power, sent from above, 
This small elfish cupid, the angels called ''Love." 

i6i 



A Weaver of Dreams 



Though nations may war, and the rivers run red, 

Stained with the life blood of heroic dead, 

Though with knowledge we fling wide the door of 

the skies, 
And read the great secrets where other worlds lie. 
We can never trap Cupid on earth or above, 
That gay little fairy, that God christened "Love." 

When earth and its sorrow shall all melt away, 
And we meet in the dawn of the great judgment 

day; 
Among the fair faces that greet us up there. 
Will be a small lad, with a mass of gold hair. 
Should you ask the child's name, on whose arm rests 

a dove. 
They would answer, 'tis Cupid, the angel of love. 

THE SILENT TRYST 

I stood one spring eve as the soft shadows drooped, 

By the vine clad oaken well 
And the firefly's lighted lamps of gold. 

When the passing shadows fell. 
There I waited, as many a night of yore, 

I have waited, alas in vain ; 
For the sound of a silvery voice that is still, 

And the footsteps that never came. 



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The red rose hath breathed to me of love, 

In the morn, when the dew fell like tears; 
The lily hath whispered of faith and hope, 

The white rose hath sighed her fears. 
The robins that each year nest in the trees; 

When the first spring blossoms are blown ; 
Came again when the spirit of spring ran rife 

And found me still waiting alone. 

The soft summer wind now sobs through the trees, 

That so oft hath blown o'er your fair head ; 
It moans a sad tune 'mid the riot of flowers, 

Like a requiem sung for the dead. 
Ah, the wonderful beauty of budding springtime, 

Earth glimpses the lost Paradise, 
It seems to me miracles here may be wrought. 

Fair one, I have called your name thrice. 

No sound, save up from the river's lip. 

Gleaming white 'neath the rays of the moon ; 
Comes a sigh that shall echo forever and aye, 

In my soul, till the last day of doom. 
She is gone, I sighed to the lily so pure. 

Oh where, asked the dreaming red rose, 
The moon paled, and hid her face 'neath a cloud. 

As the night winds sobbed, no one knows. 

THE RACE ETERNAL 

How swift, even as a swallow in its flight, 
Winging its southward journey ere the fall ; 

The youth and noon of life fade fast away, 

Through evening shades we hear the homing calls. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



When life was new, and throbbing hearts were 
young, 

Love dreams made glad the fleeting day and night ; 
We speeded on, nor paused on yester's road, 

For in the distance gleamed tomorrow's light. 

Nor thought our pulse would ere grow slow and 
faint. 

That the rose upon our cheek would fade and die ; 
The grave yawn out beyond our stretch of years, 

The step grow slow, and age dim dancing eyes. 

Yet some there were, on whose unfurrowed brow. 
Death laid his hand, while )'outh and love sang 
sweet ; 

And they who dreamed of endless life and beauty, 
Passed down the silent vale with faltering feet. 

Still some moved on through youth's sweet mist of 
dreams, 

Into the noon of life and manhood's ^^ars. 
Only to weary 'neath the load and fall, 

Staining their cross of life with scalding tears. 

Like some rare flower from out the ancient east, 
That flaunts its fiery glory to the sky ; 

One hour, that all may breathe its wondrous frag- 
rance 
Then, weary of its beauty, droops and dies. 

A few will reach the summit of life's hill. 
And there before our weary eyes will glow. 

The wondrous beauty of the flaming sunset. 
That paints a pastel ere it sinketh low. 

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And we shall walk slow down the fading years, 
The rustling leaves will crumble 'neath our feet; 

A great white star will blaze far in the heavens 
Where yesterday and the tomorrows meet. 

And down through fields of gathered golden sheaves 
The deeds of men, we follow slowly on, 

Until we reach the garden of our rest, 
And lo, the weary race of life is done. 

THAT OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 

When the glory of sunset has faded, 
And the winds of the night blow cool, 

When the mocking birds woo in the treetops, 
And the frog chorus pipes by the pool. 

When the heat of the workday is over, 

And I doze on the garden settee, 
It is then that Ileen, my old sweetheart, 

Comes back through time's cobwebs to me. 

I can see her form out of the moonmist. 
For the years have dropped softly away, 

And the journey to yesterday's dreamland, 
Seems only a sweet, fleeting day. 

Oh, the mop of gold hair was so curly. 
That it tangled my heart in its threads, 

And her eyes were so deep and alluring, 
That love's arrow stuck deep when it sped. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



I see the old brook by the meadow, 

And the nooks where the violets would bloom, 
And the long, shady paths through the woodlands, 

That were silvered each night by the moon. 

Oh, the years have been long Ileen darling, 
Since the golden head drooped, and was still, 

And the grass springs so green, Ileen darling. 
On the mound at the foot of the hill. 

I have passed on the life road alone dear, 

I have tasted of joy and of pain; 
I have basked in the sunshine of plenty. 

And drifted to shadow again. 

But you hold the keys to my heart dear. 
And reign like a queen on her throne; 

And when I have finished my work here, 
I'll come to you darling, alone. 

And I know that when night falls around me, 

And the shadows of death are deep. 
That Ileen will comfort and kiss me; 

And I shall sink sw^eetly to sleep. 

And when from death's stupor my soul wakes, 
And the gates of the garden are wide; 

I'll tread the bright pathway to glory. 
And Ileen will be by my side. 



m 



A Weaver of Dreams 



LET THERE BE LIGHT 

When life's evening shadows deepen, and death 

clouds veil the day, 
When down through the valley of shadows, our 

weary footsteps stray — 
There cometh a light a creeping, far off, like the 

flush of dawn ; 
A rosy glow; suf^Eusing hope that burns to lead 

us on. 

Ah ; when wearing of turning each long, drab day, 

the treadmill of toil and care, 
When the gleam of gold delights not the eye and the 

heart lays bleeding, raw and bare. 
May there glow, like the rose of the morning fired to 

flame, by the dawn's ardent breath. 
Far o'er the dark valley, a glorious light, that shall 

blind all the terrors of death. 

THEY SHALL BE COMFORTED 

Lower her gently, the earth will receive her, 
AH that is left of the fair maiden's frame; 
All that is left, the soul chamber is empty, 
Leaving behind her clay and her name. 
Lower her gently, the sun sinketh low. 
And the dead face lives in the golden glow. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Turn from her resting place here in earth's bosom, 

Leave her to dream in the light of the moon ; 

For the stars will soon twinkle like candles to guide 

her, 
On the heights where her spirit is wandering home. 
Gone are the memories of sorrow and strife, 
She has discovered the secret of life. 

What matter she wearied when life was so young. 
What matter the world seemed a vale of sad tears; 
What matter she chose the deep sleep of the river, 
She is wise now with knowledge that come not 

of years. 
Blindly she rushed into eternity. 
For the shadows were heavy, her eyes could not see. 

The world was a dreary, monotonous whirl, 

Life held for her tired soul, no future years bright; 

Pier heart yearned for love when the soft moon was 

gleaming. 
But never came riding her golden haired knight. 
Came nothing but sorrow and heartbreaking tears. 
And the road was so dark stretching down through 

the years. 

So wandering down where the white foaming waves, 
Washed clean the pink shells and the warm sands 

each day; 
She dreamed how the waters would softly enfold 

her, 
And bear all her cares and her sorrows away. 
The moon watched the waters close over her head, 
And morn found the sea gulls alone with the dead. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Say thou she sinned, nay the Father who giveth, 
He knows she is seeking her lost, shattered dreams, 
And He, the great Saviour, will guide and protect 

her. 
Through quicksands and mires that edge death's tur- 
bid stream. 
Lower her gently, the daylight doth close, 
To the peace and the rest of her final repose. 

A WOMAN'S LAMENT TO THE GODS 

Why have I missed the wonder hours, 

Of life's sweet time in spring; 
The silver nights, the dewy morns, 

That youth and pleasure bring. 

What have I done, thou God of love. 
That thou should'st pass me by, 

That I should never claim the soul 
Deep in a lover's eye. 

What sin have I against thee borne, 

How have I stirred thy wrath ; 
That I have never sped in glee, 

Adown love's primrose path. 

Ah yes, 'tis true, that some have sought, 

My heart and hand to woo, 
But deep within my woman's heart, 

It stirred no response true. 

And in the fabric of my life, 
No golden love threads gleam ; 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



For somehow, I have missed the path, 
That leads to love's young dreams. 

Somewhere upon the mystic road, 

They call the span of life, 
My love and I have passed unseen. 

Amid the toil and strife. 

And two hearts that should throb as one. 

In discord beat life's rhyme. 
And mourn they never met and loved 

In youth's sweet dreaming time. 

THOU SHALT NOT KILL 

Children for love and happiness, 
But none for the war kings' greed. 

None for the gaping cannon mouths, 
With their flesh and blood to feed. 

Boys for a country's honor, 

But none for a nation's gain; 
None as a target for twelve inch guns. 

On the monster ships of the main. 

We, the mothers who people your land. 

Send forth our warning cry ; 
That war must cease, and peace shall reign, 

Or the race of men shall die. 

Our hands on life's cradle, eternally rocking. 

We govern the lives to come; 
And we rise in might, and deny your right, 

To feed our flesh to the guns. 

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We see a vision of years to come, 

For the eyes of the men are blind. 
Of the tragic waste in the souls of men, 

That the war will leave behind. 

Can it be we are still in the savage stage, 

On a level with the brute, 
Is the mighty tree of civilization, 

Rotted deep at the roots. 

Have men forgotten the message of Christ, 

And his death on Calvary's heights ; 
That he hunt his brother with shot and shell. 

Like a beast that stalks in the night. 

Ah, pause with your hand on the throttle of war, 

And think men, weigh it well, 
Ere you wrest from God's hands, the souls of men, 

As a harvest for shot and shell. 

And we, the women, whose feet press down 
Through death's valley, to people your land, 

We rise, like the mighty surge of the sea. 
With the fate of your race in our hands. 

Boys for happiness, boys for love, 

Boys for the truth and the right; 
But not a life are we willing to give. 

To the tinselled glory of fight. 

Our hands on life's cradle, eternally rocking, 

We govern the race to come; 
And we offer our all to the cause of peace. 

But to war's hell, nay, not one. 

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THE SONG OF THE SEASONS 

All summer the south wind hath sighed through the 
trees, 

Bearing a dream of the nightingale song, 
Breathing the spice scented land of the east. 

Of a world silver kissed by the moon all night 

long- 
And the jessamine, blooming on casement and sill; 
Stirred and wafted sweet scent on the pale evening 
still. 

Hand in hand modest May and the blue violet died, 
Then June came with roses, some scarlet with 
lust, 
Some pink flushed like brides, in the dew of the 
morn 
Some so pale with love's passion, they crumbled to 
dust. 
For to blossom and die is great nature's first law, 
July poppies ne'er knew what the June roses saw ? 

But now comes the autumn, the season of death, 
Like the eventide's splendor, like the pailing of 
stars. 
When the green fades to gold, and to russet and 
brown, 
And the birds of the moonnights are speeding afar. 
And all the dead dreams that through summer's sun 
slept, 
Are roused from the long, dreary vigil they kept. 



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More wondrous than spring with her beauty and 
youth, 
Who wafts as she passes, a light airy kiss; 
More gentle than midsummer's riot of flowers, 

And the shallow, short hour of her noonday bliss. 
For the autumn is rich in the whole year's dreams, 
And muses in peace while the harvest moon 
gleams. 

Oh the riotous beauty of old autumn's woods. 
When the mist of the morn hangs o'er valley and 
lake; 
While deep in the hills the nuts softly fall. 

As though the earth cradled one, they feared to 
wake. 
The specters of midsummer day dreams arise, 

To fade in mist, where late the marsh wren cried. 

THE GAME 

When winter awoke in a dream of spring, 

And a goddess with pinions bright ; 
Touched the sleeping earth, with a magic wand, 

And made it bloom in a night. 
So down in the depths of my sleeping soul, 

A dream of love awoke ; 
You touched the brand with a fiery torch, 

And lo, the shadows broke. 

And the tiny fire you kindled there. 

Waxed fierce, and daily grew, 
'Till it folded me 'bout, as a cloud of flame. 

And you knew my love, you knew. 

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Forever and anon as I gazed in your eyes, 

And you saw love's kindling light ; 
Your own would flash with a dewy glow, 

Like the dawn hues after the night. 

So on through the summer's golden days, 

While the happy hours ran rife; 
We supped love's nectar from golden cups 

And played at the game of life. 
When chill as the winds from the silent isles. 

Came autumn with searing breath ; 
And laid the gardens a barren waste. 

Withered and old in death. 

The birds sang sadly, and fled afar. 

In search of a sunny clime ; 
All nature closed her eyes in sleep, 

To dream of the summer time. 
And as the flowers fade in the autumn winds, 

So died your love's great flame; 
The glow ne'er kindled again in your eyes. 

For you tired of playing the game. 

And you cast me aside a neglected toy, 

Broken in heart and mind ; 
And smiled as you thought of the tales you'd tell 

To the other ones of your kind. | 

For to you it was only an idle game, 

And all in a summer's fun; 
You knew the way you would make it end. 

Before the plav begun. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



But what of the fire that burned in my heart, 

And died 'neath your chilling smile; 
Of my fallen idols and shattered dreams, 

Do they make the game worth while? 
Is it aught to you that my heart is sore, 

And the summer's no longer gold ; 
That the seasons roll on in an endless way; 

And life seems bitter and old? 

Is it aught to you that my heart is closed, 

P orever to love of man ; 
That never again come the glad, free days. 

Or the shrilling pipes of Pan. 
Ah no — for the fickle heart of man. 

Can never sincerely regret ; 
But she who gave her all for naught, 

Does the woman ever forget ? 

AUTUMN 

Autumn, and a thousand misty shadows, 
Chasing the merry sun o'er vale and hill; 
Evening, and purple twilight softly falling, 
Moving the earth to cool and solemn still. 
Then glowing hours of the long, cool, dewy morn. 
When the soft wind rustles through the waving 
corn. 

As through the dusky fringes of the pines. 
The warm rays of the harvest moon doth shine ; 
Where white clouds roll swift 'neath the starry sky, 
Hastening — hurrying, ere the autumn dies. 



in 



A Weaver of Dreams 



And dropping, dropping, deep in the heart of the 

hills, 
The nuts that ripe with autumn's frost and chill. 

At dawn the mists upon the uplands fade, 
To show September's sun with golden eyes ; 
Peering through clouds, where gentian fields of 

blue. 
And swaying banks of goldenrod do rise. 
Sweeping from field to field, their royal crests, 
That fade into the misty darkened west. 

SHADOWS 

The lingering rays of sunlight fall. 

Athwart the parlor floor, I 

And bring a host of memories, " 

Those happy days of yore. 

I pace again the garden quaint. 

With my love of long ago; 
Where the daffodils of early spring, ,; 

And the summer roses grow. )^ 

< 
Where, the passion flower, pale with love, » 

Its perfume rashly showers, 
A tangle rife of gentians blue. 

Whisper in leafy bowers. ;. 

'Twas in the silence of twilight hour, 

The west sky was aglow ; 
With the golden tints of God's pastel, 

You breathed love's message low. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



Drawing me close, in the gloaming, 

You gazed at the fiery sky ; 
And swore our love should live through time, 

Till the sun himself should die. 

'Till the doom of the last world was sounded, 

Even heaven pass away; 
'Till the stars did fade, our love would last, 

An ageless, endless day. 

Ah love, how fleet the years have flown, 

Since we made that holy vow; 
But the same scents from the garden rise, 

To thrill my senses now. 

The soft wind wafts your gentle voice, 

Across the misty sea; 
To the garden, where I dream and wait. 

The final call from thee. 

I dream each eve, at sunset hour. 

Together you and I ; 
Roam again the fragrant garden 

And watch the flaming sky. 

So dreaming, I wait the clarion notes. 

The trumpet call of time; 
Across the tides, again to claim 

That old sweetheart of mine. 



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THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

The road parts, and we turn and face toward, 
Life's path, that leads us from our world of 
dreams ; 
And leave behind, the fragrant summer flowers. 
And the gardens fair, where nothing real doth 
seem. 
We loved awhile, rnd though the bud ne'er flour- 
ished, 
'Tis solace, 'mid life's dearth of care and pain ; 
To know that hand in hand we strolled through 
Arcady, 
And builded wondrous palaces in Spain. 

Dear friend, we met, we loved and walked together 

A short while down the pathw%3y of the years, 
But now the road parts, and we turn in sorrow 

And bathe the idol of our love in tears. 
We journeyed till we found love not enduring, 

Then watched the dead sun of our dreams sink 
low; 
So clasping hands, we murmured words of friend- 
ship. 

And parted, knowing it was better so. 

But ah, thou love that died, when God shall call. 

And death shall come, and by my cold form sit ; 
See thou that round my bier, where I lie dreaming, 

Tall candles like the stars of heaven are lit. 
And I shall stir in my repose and dream. 

Again we stand, and watch the sun sink low; 
For you and I will meet across death's waters, 

And we shall love, for God has willed it so. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



THE LOVE GAME 

What is this love game, brother? 

An hour of heavenly bliss, 
On the mountain heights of passion 

For the lure of a woman's kiss. 

I have played at the love game, brother, 
I have drained the cup of its draught; 

And I thought I had won my woman 
With the priceless love she brought. 

I dreamed that our souls were mated, 

In the garden of love's desires ; 
That our hearts were attuned forever, 

And purged by love's cleansing fires. 

I trusted this queen of my soul fires, 

That the Gods should protect from harm ; 

'Till I found her one eve in the garden, 
Close pressed in my best friend's arms. 

I have played at the love game brother, 
I have tasted its passions and thrills, 

But that night in the dreaming garden, 
I knew that I meant to kill. 

For a serpent had reared in my bosom, 
And its green eyes flashed with hate ; 

I cast it out with a trembling hand, 
And rushed from the garden gate. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



I have drained the love cup brother, 
And the dregs were bitter as gall; 

And the soul of my youthful fancies, 
Lies there 'neath the garden wall. 

But the game shall be played forever, 
'Till the very world doth die, 

And men to the last will forfeit life, 
For the light in a woman's eye. 

THE HARBINGER 

While yet the snow fell silently and soft, 
And clothed the naked trees with a white pall ; 
I heard the voice of spring deep in the forest 
Sending out tremulously, her first faint call, 
It rippled out upon the frosty air, 
Until it reached the skies and nestled there. 

Yet ere she passed, she paused yet once again, 
Beside the ice banks of the sleeping stream, 
And hummed a harmony of such sweet tunes, 
The water stirred and rippled in its dream. 
It saw again the water lilies bloom, 
Its waters dancing 'neath the summer moon. 

The mosses and the leaves that lay asleep, 
Began to dream of warm and balmy hours, 
Of rose pink dawns, when earth was born anew 
And butterflies drank from the dewy flowers. 
Of sunsets, when with joy the day grew old, 
And melted into silence soft and gold. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



Each day, although the winter king still reigned, 
The voice was calling stronger, sweeter still ; 
'Twas yet a dream, till passing by one morn; 
I saw a robin red-breast on the hill. 
My heart was glad, the call had not been vain ; 
Since it had brought spring's harbinger again. 

WHOM THE GODS LOVE 

I 

She lived in the castle upon the hill, 

The woman without a soul, 
She could look away through her turret panes, 

Where the distant mountains roll. 

Her face was fair as a summer's day, 

Her form like a chiselled art, 
She seemed as one whom the Gods had loved, 

And with whom they were loathe to part. 

But the mind of the woman was warped and bent, 
And her soul was shrivelled and small, 

And death and destruction and vice untold. 
Was the writing upon the wall. 

She lived by the power of yellow gold, 

And silenced her inner voice; 
Twixt the painted apple, and the rose of love. 

She made her final choice. 



i8i 



A Weaver of Dreams 



She lived in fashion, a life of vice, 
And the world smiled at her deeds, 

She was lifted up on an altar of gold, 
From the mire and the marshy weeds. 

She bled the souls of unnumbered men, 

To cast them aside in scorn, 
Or sent the wrecks of their former self 

Back to the hearts that mourn. 

A beautiful vulture, who fed on blood. 

From the victims very heart ; 
She bartered her soul, to the monster beast ; 

That roves in the city's mart. 

Her feet pressed on down the scarlet path, 
In the glare of the blinding lights. 

Though she knew the road would end at last. 
In the gloom of eternal night. 

And neither hunger had driven her, 

Nor the endless grind of toil, 
She was simply a monster in human form, 

The beast who stalks its spoil. 

She never saw the sunset glow, 
With a thousand myriad lights; 

She never watched with a throbbing heart, 
The pageant of silver nights. 

For her the dawn ne'er bloomed in the east. 
Nor the dew fell heavy and sweet ; 

She never listened the battle song, 
When today and tomorrow meet. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



There was only a terrible emptiness, 
Where the soul was wont to dwell, 

For the Gods in anger had sent her forth 
A beautiful empty shell. 



II 



The other one came from the people they say, 

Just one of the common class; 
And the wealthy maid had swished her skirts, 

From her soiling touch as she passed. 

She had lived her life in the tenements, 
Her world was the throbbing street; 

And her weary feet pressed on the way. 
Where sin and sorrow meet. 

She was only a product of the slums, 

One of the numberless unfed ; 
Hunger toiled with her day by day. 

And crouched at night o'er her bed. 

There came a time when the cup of sin. 
Full brimming, was raised to her lips. 

And the oily voice of the tempter spake, 
Just a sip, my dear, just a sip. 

She drained the cup, and her hunger died, 
She was swept in life's rushing flood ; 

That is swollen with tears from a million eyes, 
Red dyed with human blood. 



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A W eaver of Dreams 



Her body died, but deep within, 

There rose from the murk and night; 

Unscathed, untouched by the waves of sin. 
Her soul of flaming white. 

Deep in the cathedral of her heart, 

An altar fire burned on. 
And her listening soul each evening heard, 

The echo of angel songs. 

She was only a girl of the hidden world, 
That the laws of wealth have bred ; 

And the Christian world would place her soul, 
Among the eternal dead. 

But her soul was white, and her mind was pure. 
And the dust of the worldly stain; 

Was brushed to the winds by seraph wings, 
And the altar was clean again. 

She would close her eyes on the brazen lights, 

And the din of the dusty town; 
And picture the wild waves beating the shore, 

And the green hills sloping down. 

She sped through the aisles of the forest dim, 
Toward the glow of the sunset blaze ; 

Or worshipped the harvest moon as it rose, 
In the silver of autumn's haze. 

She whirled in the maze of a dryad's dance, 

By the firefly's lamps of gold; 
She paced the uplands alone with God 

When the dawn was dewy and cold. 

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A Weaver of Dreams 



But always she woke with a chilling start, 
To the glare of the blazing lights, 

To the terror of feverish midday dreams, 
And the horror of long red nights. 

She prayed, "Oh God, that the rose of love. 
In the desert of sin might bloom, 

That the painted apple of sensual vice, 
Might fade ere the wane of the moon." 

She prayed, while yonder all jewel bedecked. 

In her castle upon the knoll; 
In feudal splendor, with vassals near. 

Lives the woman without a soul. 

Her God is sin, and her Lord is vice, 
And her soul is scorched by the fire ; 

She drags the spirit of God in man, 
Through the dank and slimy mire. 

Ill 

And some there be whom the Gods do love, 
And their mills grind small and slow ; 

And secrets there be from the hearts of men, 
That only the Gods do know. 

And unto the girl of the slums was given. 

To Paradise gates a key ; 
The painted apple the other held. 

From the bough of the lost soul tree. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



To one was granted the pride of cast, 

And a kingdom's wealth untold ; 
The mold, was fair, but the potter forgot, 

To place in his vessel a soul. 

The other life bloomed in a reedy marsh, 

Where the poison winds blew cold ; 
But the Gods did smile and bestow on her, 

A heart of purest gold. 

Now the moral, is which would you choose to be. 

The woman of fabled gold, 
Or the sin scarred maid of the tenements. 

Whom the Gods had given a soul. 

THE GREATER LURE 

I used to long for the woodland roads, that my 
sandaled feet might press 
For the wild free lure of the gypsy life, and the 
dawn tipped hills of green, 
I loved to revel like Pan of old, through the prim- 
rose fields of joy. 
For my years were few, my soul was new, and life 
seemed a wondrous dream. 

When love caught my wayward heart in his net, and 
gave me the heart of my man ; 
My being was thrilled, yet the binding tie seemed 
a millstone about my soul ; 
And oft when the rose cheeked dawn was born, or 
the sun blazed red in the west, 
The call would come, and my Pagan heart would 
throb with a wild turmoil. 

,i«6 



A Weaver of Dreams 



But now, though the dew lies heavy and sweet on 
the flowers that bloom by the road, 
I hear no longer the pipes of Pan, nor the call of 
dancing feet; 
For a baby's head is pressed to my heart, and a rose- 
bud mouth to my lips, 
And the call is drowned by a baby's voice, that is 
soft and cooing and sweet. 

And baby hands have bound my heart, like bands of 
welded steel; 
And I see a home and a romping child where the 
gypsy camp has stood. 
And I know that the lure of the long white road, 
where my sandaled feet might press. 
Is as naught in the world of deeds and men, to the 
lure of motherhood. 

LOVE 

Love, elusive and discreet, 
With thy careless tripping feet. 
Shall it be our fate to meet. 

Even so. 
When your idle fancy turns, 
To other lips that redder burn, 
I will call to you and mourn, 

Don't go. 



«B7 



A Weaver of Dreams 



When the years have passed away, „ 

And in the east dawns life's last day, | 

Will you call me then and say, 

Don't go. 
Will I find you false as fair, 
Cold of heart, but golden haired. 
Tripping here, and flitting there, 

Even so. 

Let us revel at our will. 

Our forms will soon be cold and still, v 

And a sad voice moan, with the old, old thrill, | 

Don't go. 
Cupid, ah, you hold love's net. 
Life's flowers with morning dew are wet, 
When I am gone, will you forget ? 

Ah, no. 



HE AROSE 

The bright, star studded eastern sky swung low, 
As if to guard the rock bound sepulchre. 

Where Christ, the Prince of peace, lay crucified, 
In winding sheets, all garlanded with myrrh. 

The sandy fields stretched mistily away, 
Their silence broken by no rude turmoil ; 

Except the steady tramp of armoured men. 
Seeking to guard the immortal, on earthly soil. 

Stars looked down with wise and twinkling eyes, 
Planets paced slow, upon their destined way, 

The world moved silently, and erstwhile paused, 
Waiting the dawn of resurrection day, 

i88 



i 



A Weaver of Dreams 



The world lies sleeping — nay the haughty Romans 
Guard well the tomb where dreams the crucified ; 

And one Barabbas, thief and murderer, 

Who should have suffered, where the white king 
died. 

Lies on the barren field, and waits and watches 
To see immortality conquer death and sing ; 

The chant that robs all sorrow of its terror, 

Oh death, where is thy victory, oh grave, where 
is thy sting? 

The first soft ray of morning light is lifting, 
Its left hand in the silent listening dome ; 

All nature, with stirring, rustling wonder quivers 
To see the angels roll away the stone. 

A sudden burst of radiant, heavenly light; 

A fiery chariot dashes down the ray; 
Two angels, glistening in their solemn duty, 

Usher in the first great Easter day. 

The soldiers at the great white flush of heaven. 
Fall senseless on the ground no longer hare, 

And where the bold Barabbas sinks down sleeping. 
White passion flowers are blooming everywhere. 

There in the silent dawn, when all men slept, 
And nature saw the miracle of death ; 

The stone rolls back, and Christ walks from his 
tomb, 
And nature bows her head with bated breath. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



He treads the field, where passion flowers make soft, 
The threshold for his cruelly pierced feet; 

The birds burst forth in warblings of great joy ; 
The immortal Saviour of the world to greet. 

Thus Christ, when rising from the night of death, 
Made possible that all the world might sing; 

On Easter morn, when blow the Easter lilies, 
Oh death, where is thy victory, oh grave, where 
is thy sting. 

ADRIFT 

I have waited through noonday's heat and glare, 

'Till the sun in the far west faded and died ; 
I have watched the sea waves wash the shore, 

'Till the night wn'nd blew, and the sea gulls 
cried. 
And now the peace of the twilight hour, 

Hath wrapped the world in a misty dream ; 
And the cold moon showers a sheen on the sea. 

And the dusky eyes of the faint stars gleam. 

I am waiting my love, and the wind blows chill, 

Down by the rocks I am waiting for thee. 
And the vast woods behind me are stirring and sway- 
ing; 

To echo the sad mournful song of the sea. 
But love when your step echoes on yonder sand, 

The cold silver water will burnish to gold, 
The leaves will rustle and whisper and sing. 

Of dead loves that blossomed in days of old. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



And the stars will twinkle and shine and gleam, 

And love's music drown the dull moan of the sea ; 
The waves will sink low, and the sea gulls rest, 

The world gleam in beauty, when you come to 
me. 
But forgive me love, I am dreaming tonight, 

All alone on the beach of this strange foreign land, 
Where the shipwreck of yesterday washed me ashore. 

And cast your fair dead on the white gleaming 
sand. 

'Tis sunset, ah, open those heavy lashed eyes, 

For the west is ablaze with amber and gold; 
And it paints the vast waters a molten mass, 

While far in the east, the stars gleam cold. 
Ah love, there is nothing in life for me now, 

For you lie cold in death on the pink shelled lea, 
While the last gull calls, and the dark woods sigh, 

And the dead sun dips 'neath the moaning sea. 



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A Weaver of Dreams 



AS THE YEARS ROLL ON 

Where have the golden sunsets gone, 

And the rose hu.ed skies of yore; 
Where are the silver moonlit nights, 

And the stars that gleam no more. 
I stood by the sea in days gone by, 

And heard the song of the waves, 
That breathed through my soul like a requiem 

For the dead in their watery graves. 

But the somber years have passed me by, 

My lips felt the kiss of pain, 
Sorrow hath sat with me and flown. 

Flown, but returned again. 
And sin hath scarred my temple of life, 

And silenced the voice of my soul ; 
My mind hath wandered from holy things, 

Deep in the world's turmoil. 

And I see no more the silver nights. 

Night melts to hideous day; 
And life stretches on down a thorny road, 

To the milestone that parts the way. 
And the word the milestone bears is "death" 

I fear, but I haste on my way; 
For I hope to pass through the shadowy vale, 

Ere the sunset of the day. 



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